


flashback humour

by montcliffekuban



Category: Suits (US TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, And As People, Canon-Typical Repression of Feelings, Families of Choice, Fatherhood, Gratuitous References to Pop Culture, Growing Up, Multi, Recreational Drug Use, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-23
Updated: 2020-10-23
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:15:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 56,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27163034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/montcliffekuban/pseuds/montcliffekuban
Summary: Harvey crashes a birthday party, gets invited to a wedding, a high school play, an engagement party, another wedding, a graduation, and learns several things about Mike Ross, '90s movies, and family.
Relationships: Mike Ross & Original Female Character(s), Mike Ross/Harvey Specter, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 18
Kudos: 63





	1. Chapter 1

Harvey fires Mike his first day at Pearson Hardman and nearly fires him again after he catches the kid yapping away on the phone when he returns to his office after sparring with Jessica over his promotion.

“— really weird,” he’s saying. He looks up when Harvey enters, straightening in his seat. “I’ll tell you about it later, I gotta go — I love you too. Stay out of trouble.”

 _Girlfriend?_ Harvey wonders idly, tossing Jessica’s pro bono file into Mike’s lap. Mike barely catches it, halfway through stuffing his phone into his breast pocket. He’s unsurprisingly thrilled about taking on a pro bono, and crows about it.

“Hey,” Harvey says, grabbing his elbow when he goes to leave, “keep your head in the game, got it?”

“Go Wildcats,” Mike says, and, before Harvey can ask, marches out of the office and entirely the wrong way. Harvey watches Donna grab his arm and steer him in the right direction and wonders briefly if he’s made a terrible mistake, then tosses that notion out immediately. It was a risk to hire Mike, sure, but not a mistake. Never a mistake. Mike is the exception to everything, but the right way, the way Harvey had been when Jessica first found him.

Harvey shouldn’t have hired him, but it would have been such a waste not to.

The maintenance guy from earlier, the one who’d been scratching his title off his office door, reappears to replace the _SENIOR_ in _SENIOR PARTNER_ underneath his name. Donna grins at him through the glass and gives him a thumbs up. Harvey smiles back tightly.

—

If Mike does have a secret girlfriend, he’s not going to have one much longer, not with the googoo eyes he’s making at Rachel. Although maybe that’s for the best; Harvey caught him on the phone again in the men’s room, saying, “You know you’re the only woman in my life,” or some such tripe, looking categorically mortified when the door swung open.

They’d narrowly avoided a run-in with Jessica that morning, if only because Mike had literally turned on his heel and all but ran off in the opposite direction when she’d approached. Harvey’d let him; he should be afraid of Jessica. And he should _not_ be eating sushi on company dime and giggling stupidly at a paralegal, even if she is the firm’s best.

“You say you care about the client, but if you keep playing footsie instead of finding me an argument, the client’s gonna lose,” Harvey says, measured, and watches Mike blush stupidly. “I don’t wanna lose.”

They don’t lose. Mike is up bright and early the next morning and pressing a file into Harvey’s hands, his breathing still a little short from the bike ride here. His tie is still too skinny, but Harvey can forgive it, because his work is impeccable.

“This is good,” Harvey says, gesturing at the file, “we’re gonna have some fun,” and watches the kid boggle as he realises he gets to go to court. Harvey smiles at him indulgently. He’d woken up in a good mood and so had the green-eyed bartender in his bed.

The good mood sours slightly when Mike spends most of the drive frowning and tapping furiously at his phone. It’s a brick of shit, a first-generation iPhone with spidery cracks all over the screen, and Harvey cannot roll his eyes hard enough.

“What’s her name?” He asks shortly.

“Annie,” Mike mutters, distracted, “what? Give me a second.” He finishes his text and looks up at Harvey expectantly. “Sorry, what?”

Girlfriend, then. “You can recite the entire BarBri Legal Handbook word for word but you can’t text and talk at the same time?”

“Not if it’s important, and that is so not the same thing,” Mike argues.

Harvey hikes an eyebrow. “What’s more important than the case?”

Mike flushes and says nothing.

—

Mike is fucking weird, which is par for the course, all things considered, but Harvey has his limits. Which are easily exceeded, Donna reminds him sternly. So Harvey doesn’t say anything about how cagey the kid is, or how secretive, even in spite of how easy it is to read him. His poker face is a joke, and whenever Harvey catches him goofing off with Rachel or nattering away on his goddamn phone, he looks so childishly wide-eyed and guilty that Harvey kind of wants to smack him. But he’s a fish out of water at the firm, even as brilliant as he is, and he’s got a grandmother who’s sick and financially dependent on him, and as far as Harvey can tell Mike has no other family; he’s the last of his name. Harvey cuts him slack, because despite all of Mike’s — eccentricities — the work is consistently pristine. Also, Donna tells him to, and Donna is scary.

He swings by Conference Room C late in the afternoon to see how Mike’s getting along with the Devlin McGregor files, and lo, behold, the kid is on the phone, yammering incessantly while he scans a sheet of paper in his left hand. There are about eleven open boxes scattered on various chairs and all over the table, and Mike’s free arm is elbow deep in a twelfth. In the corner are several more boxes, closed, neatly stacked under a makeshift sign taped to the wall that says _BURN PILE_ in red sharpie.

“How do you keep _doing_ that,” Mike blurts when he catches sight of Harvey in the doorway. He shuffles the phone closer to his ear with his shoulder. “No, it’s just my boss. _No_ , Annie. I _promise_ you that won't work. Fine, bye. I love you too.”

Harvey so very much wants to give him shit, but Mike is sixteen boxes in, and it’s only been three hours. “End of the week,” he reminds him, and walks back to his office, resisting the urge to yell at some other associate about their terrible shoes for some much-needed catharsis. Donna would murder him, and just before that she’d remind him of one unhappy and yet universal truth: Harvey brought this entirely on himself.

—

Trevor reappears spectacularly quickly, and of course at the most inopportune time. Harvey is busy fighting Ray’s case, and trying to organise a deal, and also clean up the mess Mike makes of that deal, but Mike just keeps getting this irritatingly helpless look on his face, and Harvey fucking hates it, for some reason he cannot quite discern (but Donna’s facial expression tells him she can and has).

So Harvey bails them out of trouble, the pair of them, because Mike doesn’t do a single relationship by half; he gets himself entangled in everyone he meets. (It unsettles Harvey to realise that he’s now one of those people.)

Mike and Trevor walk several feet behind Harvey, prattling affectionately, even after all of the shit Trevor has put Mike through. It makes Harvey think of Marcus. Mike buys Trevor a bus ticket to Montana, does some outrageously childish secret handshake, hugs him goodbye, then gets into the back of the town car and starts crying.

Frivolous lawsuits, and tanked deals, and even gunmen, Harvey can deal with. Tears, he cannot. Woefully unprepared, he pats Mike awkwardly on the shoulder.

Mike sniffles unattractively and says, “I want a restraining order.”

Harvey retracts his hand.

“Against Trevor,” Mike elaborates, and that makes more sense.

“Really?” Harvey asks, deliberately softening his tone. “He’s going to Montana.”

“Don’t care.” Mike’s eyes are red, but he isn’t crying anymore, and his voice is stronger. “I can’t risk anything—” He stops, glances at Harvey, and says, “I can’t keep doing shit like this.”

Harvey nods, and puts a restraining order in motion as soon as they get back to the office. Mike insists he can take himself to the Superior Court, and they don’t discuss it again. The next morning, Harvey finds _Thank you_ scrawled in the margin of a memo on his desk.

It’s written in pencil, so Harvey will be able to erase it before he files it. He shoves it into his desk drawer and asks Donna to print another copy instead.

—

Mike has an irritating and insistent habit of not being at his cubicle when he’s meant to be, which is _all of the time_ , unless Harvey deems otherwise. Harvey glares at Mike’s empty chair and then realises the other associates are carefully pretending not to stare, so he sits down and tries to fume less obviously.

Mike’s desk is cluttered, which doesn’t surprise Harvey at all. He’s got a box of case files on his left and a pile of envelopes and folders stuffed into a rack on the right. His in-tray is full and so his out-tray, which makes sense for an associate, and he’s got several mugs full of pens and highlighters — too many highlighters, probably because Harvey caught him pinching them out of his office late one night and had thrown him out on his polyester ass. 

Mike also has two desk plants, which is two more than anybody needs — a cactus in a little pink ceramic pot and something dark green and leafy in a plastic cup that is just waiting to get soil everywhere. By the monitor, there’s a framed black-and-white photo of an elderly woman with a giggling, fat-cheeked baby in her lap. Mike with his grandmother, probably. The rest of his photographs are tacked up on his cubicle walls — a colour photo of his grandmother with a party hat perched crookedly on her hair, grinning at the camera, a cupcake with a single lit candle in it on the table in front of her. Another black-and white shot of a woman with Mike’s nose and large forehead, a baby on her hip and a paper crown on her head. Mike’s mother, Harvey deduces. Some of the pictures are flimsy, curling at the corners, printed out on copier paper, grainy like the printer had been running out of ink. A young couple in wedding attire, the bride gleefully brandishing her bouquet, smiling at the camera while the groom smiles at her. The same couple in front of a house, each holding the hand of the fair-haired child between them, about three years old. Mike with his arm around a girl in a green dress that Harvey doesn’t recognise, tawny skin and dark hair falling around her shoulders. The girlfriend, maybe. _Annie_. She looks young, too young; Harvey would have guessed fifteen, but her features are hard to make out because of the photograph’s abysmal quality. Aside from her, the photos are all of Mike’s family, all of them dead or dying. Harvey feels a distant pang in his chest, but then Mike himself is striding down the hall to his cubicle, slightly out of breath, tie as ridiculous as ever, asking “What’s up?” as if Harvey needs any more of an excuse to be pissed at him.

He sends Mike to tell Donna to get any judge that will listen on the phone, resists the urge to knock that stupid cactus off his desk, and goes back to his office to call his client.

—

Judge Donald Pearl is a pain in the ass, but worse than that, he’s a waste of time. Harvey never sleeps with married women, ever, so it’s easy to get Lauren Pearl to admit to lying to her husband about their affair, but considerably more difficult to convince her to do the same in front of that husband.

“I was — when he found out you and I had — he changed,” she says, gazing up at him imploringly, “he looked at me for the first time again, like I mattered,” and Harvey feels for her, he does, but he also doesn’t have time to explain that an affair is definitely _not_ the thing that will save a marriage, so he lets it go.

Instead, he spends the morning exhausting his list of 146 things to do when someone holds a gun to your head, and when he finally makes it back to the office, Mike isn’t there. He isn’t at his cubicle, either, predictably, and when Harvey stalks back to his office, Donna smirks at him, tipping her chin in the direction he just came from. Harvey glances down the hall, and sure enough spots the back of Mike’s head in Jessica’s office, sat in front of her desk. Jessica’s nodding at something he’s saying, her face oddly open. It’s not a look Harvey sees from her often, her eyes soft even as the rest of her expression remains impassive.

“What the hell?” He asks, turning to Donna. Donna just shrugs and goes back to sorting the files on her desk.

“He came back from his thing with Louis looking like he was about to piss himself and followed her to her office,” she says, handing off a stack of folders to the next paralegal that walks by. “Rachel Zane.” The guy takes them and is halfway down the hall before he stops and blinks at his armful of case files. Such is Donna’s power.

“Did he say what it was about?”

“Not to me.” Which means she knows anyway and she still isn’t going to tell him. “Maybe you should try talking to him, Harvey,” she says, as he makes to go back into his office, her tone implying instruction rather than suggestion.

Mike, as it turns out, doesn’t want Harvey to be the one doing the talking, at least not right now, the way he won’t let him get a word in edgewise. Harvey is winding up yet another call with an increasingly panicky Wyatt when Mike bursts in, paperwork in hand.

“Confirmation of the interference claim, I proofed it, I have to go now,” he says, all in one breath.

“What?” Harvey says, staring at him. “Why are you so flushed?”

“I can’t explain it right now but I promise — why am I so what?”

“Your face is red. You look you’ve been in the sun.”

“Louis took me to the tennis club for lunch, he did the speech about the ponies and he was wearing a headband and _not_ a towel and it was the stuff of _nightmares_ ,” Mike rushes out, antsy. Harvey opens his mouth to rebuke him, and Mike bounces on his heels, impatient. “Look, I’m sorry, but I have to go.”

“And where the hell do you think you’re going?” Harvey demands.

“Harvey,” Mike says warily. He steps up close and looks Harvey dead in the eye. Harvey’s stomach flips, unprepared for the sudden proximity, the intensity of Mike’s gaze. His eyes are so blue they’re almost see-through. “I promise I will tell you everything, but I have to go now. I have the afternoon off.”

“Says who?”

“Jessica,” Mike says, and skips out of the office.

“What the fuck,” Harvey says to the room at large.

He watches him haggle with Donna for a bit, and then half-jog back to the associates’ bullpen, looking harassed. She looks right at him as soon as Mike is gone.

“ _And what about the lovers who spend hours staring into each other’s eyes?_ ” Donna stage-whispers over the intercom. “ _Is it a display of trust? I will let you in close—_ ”

Harvey mutes her and goes off to yell at Louis to reward himself for not throwing a stapler at her head.

—

In the end, it’s Mike’s annoying tenacity that helps him win Wyatt’s case. After a chewing out Louis and going to battle with Velocity Data’s counsel — and a drink, because he deserves it — Harvey unmutes his intercom. “Donna—”

“ _And if trust is one of the foundations of love—_ ”

“Donna.”

“ _Or maybe it’s simpler than that. A simple search for connection. To see. To be seen—_ ”

“I’m sorry I muted you.”

Donna studies him through the glass, then puts down the phone and comes to stand in the doorway of his office. “May I?”

“Always,” Harvey smiles, relieved that she isn’t mad at him, but on edge nonetheless. There’s very little that Donna feels she can’t tell him from the comfort of her cubicle.

Donna perches on the edge of his desk and looks down at him like a benevolent overlord (which, in any case, is how she’d describe herself). “He’s sorry,” she tells him. Harvey doesn’t look at her.

“He really is, Harvey. He told me he was stuck, and that he didn’t want to drag you down with him, that he’ll work as hard as he can, for free if he has to—”

“For free,” Harvey murmurs, and jumps up out of his chair. Donna doesn’t startle, but it’s a near thing.

“I mean, I don’t think he meant forever,” she says, “probably more of a probationary thing, but—”

“No, I mean, that’s it,” Harvey says, mind whirring, “I need you to get Wyatt back on the phone, now.” Donna nods and stands up, smoothing down her dress. “And when Mike gets back, tell him —” _thank you_ , he’s about to say, but then, “— tell him to come see me.”

Fifteen minutes later, Harvey’s out the door on his to meet Wyatt at his office. Donna wings a protein bar at him as he flies past her desk and he catches it, nodding gratefully — he’d forgotten he’d even skipped lunch. “Harvey,” she calls. He looks back at her, already wolfing it down.

“He trusts you,” Donna says, her eyes boring into him. “Implicitly. He needs you to trust him.”

Finally, Harvey nods, as dignified as he can manage around a mouthful of sticky granola.

—

He kicks Velocity Data’s ass, and then Donald Pearl’s, too, just for good measure, and makes it back to the office with time to spare.

Jessica appears at his elbow out of nowhere in that way she does. Harvey carefully does not jump.

“I need you to give this to Mike Ross.” She hands him a file. It doesn’t sound like an order, but Harvey knows her too well.

“What—” he starts, but she’s already gone.

“File room,” Donna says as he stomps past her. “Be gentle!”

Sure enough, Mike is in the file room, packing up the Velocity Data paperwork sombrely. “Always heard about this place,” Harvey says. Mike tenses. “Which room is Hoffa buried in?”

Mike laughs, eased. “Not sure, but, uh, the Arc of the Covenant is down the hall on the left.” His eyes are so blue even in the low light of the file room.

“Thought you had the afternoon off.”

Mike shrugs, turning away from him to close the last box of files.

“When you said you would tell me everything, does that include why Jessica is running around fetching you your drug test results?”

Mike looks up, lets out a relieved breath. “She got them?”

Harvey pulls them out of reach. “Start talking.”

So Mike does. Harvey doesn’t interrupt him once, and Mike relaxes the more he talks. He tells Harvey about Louis holding falsified drug test results over his head to pull a pothead client, or risk suspension without pay; about the client being Tom fucking Keller, dot-com billionaire, who’d listened when Mike told him that he didn’t smoke anymore, who’d liked Mike enough to sign him anyway — after which Mike had gone to Jessica and told her the whole sordid story.

“She gave me the afternoon off—”

“—because she didn’t want anyone asking questions about your suspension,” Harvey nods. “What’s the official story?”

“Family emergency.”

Of course. For someone so sharp, Mike is horribly predictable. “Listen—”

“Harvey, before you say anything, I just wanted to—”

“Do we need to have a conversation about how you keep interrupting me?” Harvey asks, but he’s smiling.

Mike’s eyes go very wide. He blushes unusually delicately, Harvey notes. He hands Mike his drug test results; Mike skims them and then breathes a sigh of relief, shoulders sagging. “I knew it,” he whispers, mostly to himself.

“I just was on my way to talk to Louis,” Harvey tells him, and smiles when Mike immediately says, “No, I’ll do it,” like he’d expected.

Mike shifts on restless feet the entire way up to Harvey’s floor, eyes darting. Harvey wants to put a hand on his chest, pin him to the wall, just to make him be still. Something of that must convey itself on his face because Mike stops moving all at once, colour high in his cheeks. He follows Harvey all the way to his office, and grabs his hand out of the blue.

Harvey looks at him. Mike drops his hand as if scalded, and looks away, embarrassed. “Sorry.”

Harvey shakes his head. For some reason, he doesn’t trust himself to speak.

“I just — I wanted to to apologise,” Mike says, not quite looking at him, “and — to say thank you.”

Harvey waves him off, gives him as gracious a smile as he can muster. “After you’re finished with Louis, I’d like you to put together a settlement memorandum.”

Mike turns to him in the doorway of his office, wide-eyed. “It worked?”

“It worked,” Harvey affirms. “You did good, kid.”

Mike looks unbearably tender, like he might try to hug him. Harvey closes the door in his face before he can even think about it.

—

True to his word, Mike works as hard as he can in the weeks after he lands Tom Keller. Harvey barely sees him outside of depositions and client meetings and the occasional office visit to drop thick stacks of paperwork on Harvey’s desk, eyes sunken and smile weary.

“You look like hell,” Harvey comments once, when Mike drops by to get his signature on something.

“I don’t believe in hell,” Mike says, grinning a little wildly. It looks like it’s taking all of his concentration just to stand up straight. “I believe in unemployment, but not hell.”

Harvey signs and hands the document back to him.

“You’re too much trouble,” he smirks. “Get some therapy.”

Mike’s grin gets impossibly wider. He takes the paper back clumsily, his fingers brushing Harvey’s far more than necessary. Harvey does _not_ flinch away.

Harvey watches Mike totter outside and lean on Donna’s cubicle like it’s the only thing propping him up. Donna just laughs at him, ruffling his hair, and lets him have the rest of her coffee. Mike goes around the cubicle to kiss her, wobbles slightly, and limps off with the takeout cup.

“Does he look skinnier to you?” Donna voice crackles over the intercom.

“What?”

“You watched him walk away, Harvey, don’t play dumb with me.”

“He looks fine,” Harvey mutters.

“You only think that because you have a crush on him,” Donna says, and hangs up before he can so much as open his mouth to protest.

It’s a little scary how easily Mike charmed Donna, considering her incredibly low tolerance for bullshit and department store formalwear. He’s always smiling at her, bringing her coffee in the mornings and stopping to chat with her every time he comes by Harvey’s office. Harvey arrives early one morning to give Donna her coffee himself and Mike’s already there, handing over a disposable cup and a paper bag, talking animatedly.

“— figured you’d find out anyway,” Mike is saying. The law school thing, then. Harvey remembers Mike in Jessica’s office and grabs his wrist to pull him aside.

“ _Hey_ — Harvey!” Mike looks suddenly alarmed. “Is it nine already?”

“It’s seven thirty, I got here early — have you slept at all?” Harvey watches Mike’s eyelids flutter, biting his lip as he considers the question. Abruptly, Harvey drops his wrist.

“Did you tell Jessica about law school?”

“What?”

“When you were in Jessica’s office, did you tell her about law school?”

“No,” Mike hedges, “but I think we should.”

“Mike!” A voice barks from down the hall, and Mike is tripping over his own feet to get to Louis’ office before Harvey can institutionalise him for his sudden onset idiocy.

“Is that for me?” Donna asks.

“No,” Harvey says stubbornly, having forgotten about the coffee until just now, and drinks the whole thing at his desk in full view of Donna just to be spiteful. Donna remains largely unaffected — certainly more than Harvey, who is deeply affected, and somewhat horrified, by his heretofore undiscovered penchant for peppermint lattes.

—

For the most part, Mike keeps his head down. He manages to work Louis and Harvey’s cases side-by-side, teaming up with Rachel, and, dead out of left field, another associate by the name of Seth Keller, at least according to Donna. Harvey doesn’t entirely believe it; Donna’s been pulling all sorts of bullshit in the name of getting Harvey to ‘admit to his feelings for his own good’, which is ridiculous, because Harvey doesn’t do feelings. When he asserts as such, Donna just looks at him pityingly, like one might look at an injured puppy.

Aside from this incredibly weird, entirely Donna-esque development, which includes nudging Mike to start bringing _Harvey_ coffee every morning, everything is on track and running smoothly. Harvey feels a familiar kind of elation bubbling in his stomach, the kind that reminds him he’s winning and he’ll stay winning. It makes him marginally nicer to everyone around him, much to Jessica’s approval.

Then he calls Mike at eleven on a Sunday, and Mike doesn’t answer until the very last ring. Harvey, greeted with a muffled, “Whu—?”, frowns.

“Where are my Henderson briefs? Are you still _asleep?_ ”

“I was,” Mike grumbles. There’s a noise like the rustling of sheets, as if Mike is shifting in bed. “They’re, uh, on my nightstand. I’ll give them to you on Monday.”

“Like hell you will. I need them now.”

“I’ll give them to you on Monday, Harvey,” Mike says patiently. “I don’t work Sundays.”

“Says who?” Harvey demands.

“Jessica,” Mike says, and hangs up on him.

“Deja-vu, rookie,” Harvey snaps at the dead air, and goes to confront the woman herself.

Jessica’s secretary, Bambi, startles a little when he storms past her. “Uh, Mr Specter—” Harvey ignores her and shoves his way into Jessica’s office.

“Harvey,” Jessica says pleasantly. Her hair is up in a sleek and intricate knot at the crown of her head, which means she has some client lunch or another in the next hour. Not much has Jessica in the office at this hour on a Sunday. Speaking of which.

“Did you tell Mike Ross he could have Sundays off?”

“Yes,” Jessica replies, apparently unruffled. When Harvey doesn’t say anything else, she puts her pen down and gives him a challenging look. “That boy brought a client in on his second day and then, instead of coasting on that success like I’d expect, especially of _your_ associate, he continues to work himself to the bone.” She raises an eyebrow at him meaningfully. Harvey remembers the monstrous hangover he woke up with the morning after he signed McKernon Motors and clears his throat a little. “When you do work of that calibre, exceptions are made. Sound familiar?”

“You _told_ me to find you another exception.”

“And you did. Pearson Hardman thanks you.”

“Yeah, I did,” Harvey snaps, suddenly recognising the thick, pooling feeling in his gut as possessiveness. It makes him feel strange, prickly all over, but he forges ahead. “ _I_ hired him, and I don’t appreciate _anyone_ going over my head to make decisions for _my_ associate.”

Jessica regards him for a moment, and then gestures for him to sit. Harvey does. “Now that you’ve gotten that off your chest, is there anything you want to tell me about Mike Ross?”

Harvey is confronted with the vivid image of Donna waggling her eyebrows at him, peppermint latte in hand, and flushes hotly. “I beg your pardon?”

Jessica sits back, scrutinising him. Harvey feels thoroughly and appropriately scrutinised. “You know what I thought when Mike Ross followed me into my office to tell me in one breath he was being blackmailed by a junior partner and intended to woo a client out from underneath that partner? I thought, _Wow. Just like Harvey_. And you know what he said to me when I asked him the same question I just asked you? He said, _I think you should talk to Harvey_.”

“Jessica—”

“He said that because he didn’t want to tell me anything _you_ wouldn’t tell me. But you knew that. You know, he really is just like you — brilliant, tenacious. Loyal to a fault.” She leans forward now, still eyeing him. “Make no mistake, Harvey: you bought in. Your loyalty lies, above all else, with the firm. So let me ask you again: is there anything you want to tell me about Mike Ross?”

That feeling in Harvey’s gut turns to cold dread and snakes its way up his spine. He shakes his head and carefully doesn’t shift in his seat.

Jessica looks at him a moment longer. “Alright.”

“I still don’t appreciate you making decisions regarding my associate without telling me,” Harvey says, having regained his footing.

To his surprise, Jessica nods. “I apologise. I never intended to step on your toes.” Her lips curve in the slightest of smiles.

Harvey blinks. “Good.”

“Good.”

She smiles properly, and Harvey leaves her to finish her due diligence, reeling.

—

In spite of his collusion with Jessica, Mike shows up at the office thirty minutes later, wearing a heather blue t shirt that makes his eyes impossibly striking, file in hand. Harvey says nothing, raising a questioning eyebrow, and immediately wonders if he’s been spending too much time with his managing partner.

“Um, I felt bad,” Mike stammers.

Harvey tries to say _Thanks_ , but it comes out as, “Why are you wearing tennis shoes in my office.”

Predictably, Mike blushes. “I’m — leaving now.” He turns back to Harvey as he opens to door. “Uh, I guess…call me if you need anything.”

“I don’t think I should,” Harvey says, pretending to examine the Henderson documents. “It _is_ your day off.”

Mike shoots him a guilty smile, and leaves without a backward glance.

—

After eight hours of sleep and some insistence from Donna, Harvey lets the Sunday thing go. Actually, it’s almost entirely down to Donna, who, upon seeing him first thing Monday morning, leans over the wall of her cubicle conspiratorially and says, “I heard about how you staked your claim on the firm’s new golden boy yesterday.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”Harvey retorts, his magnanimity rapidly evaporating.

Donna clears her throat. “ _He’s mine! I hired him and he’s all mine_ ,” she postures, in an admittedly pretty good impression of him. “ _He’s mine, I said, and none of you get to have him! If any of you so much as look at Mike Ross, I’ll—_ ”

“Yeah, okay.” She smiles deviously. “I said he was my _associate_ ,” Harvey corrects her pointlessly. Her smile only grows more devious. “How did you find out about that, anyway?”

Donna wiggles her fingers. “Donna knows all.”

“Bambi told you.”

“Bambi told me,” Donna nods.

Mike chooses that exact moment to round the corner, worrying his bottom lip, cardboard cupholder in hand. He stops short when he sees Harvey. Harvey, in turn, spins on his heel and goes right back into his office. He hears Donna sigh exasperatedly at his back.

After a moment, Mike is at his door, rapping hesitantly on the glass. Harvey nods for him to come in.

“Uh, here,” Mike says, handing him a cup, a paper bag, and a file in succession. “Coffee, bagel, smoking gun.”

Harvey sets everything but the file down on his desk. “Why the bagel?”

Mike had opened his mouth, presumably to explain the file; he closes it again, blinking. “What? Uh, new breakfast deal at my coffee place. Donna said you like bagels.”

“And what about the gun?”

Mike seems relieved to be talking about work again. “We were right about the embezzlement, but the money wasn’t for her wife. It was for her mistress.” Mike frowns. “Her — master…ess? Her boy-mistress.”

“Paramour,” Donna’s voice emanates from Harvey’s desk. Mike, used to this by now, turns and calls, “Thank you!” through the glass. Donna winks in reply.

“This is good,” Harvey says, and tosses the file back at Mike. His chest is suddenly tight. “Go pull the trigger.”

“I — me?” Mike gapes. “I mean, yes, me. It was my idea.” He cocks a pretend rifle, and Harvey cannot help but smile.

“Go ahead and shoot. You’ll be doing me a favour,” he says.

“Remember, this gun is pointed right at your heart.”

“That is my _least_ vulnerable spot.”

Mike gives him a dazzling grin, and bounds off to make Henderson pay her dues.

As soon as he’s gone, Harvey slumps in his seat. “That was fucking weird,” he says to his desk.

“You’re fucking obvious,” his desk replies.

Harvey looks up to glare at Donna and finds her already looking at him, arms crossed. “You know, there is that pesky no-fraternising policy,” she muses. “You’d have to wait until he’s junior partner at least.”

Harvey groans. “Donna.”

“Senior partner, to be safe. But then you might lose that _delicious_ student/teacher dynamic you’ve got going on.”

“I am literally begging you to stop.”

She looks at him. “Only if you admit that you cried when you watched _Casablanca_.”

Harvey stiffens. “I will admit no such a thing.”

Donna smirks knowingly. “Ah, but you just did.”

—

Excepting Sundays, Mike really does work himself to the bone. Harvey once grabbed Rachel as she walked past his office and asked, “Where does Mike usually go for lunch?”

She’d stared back at him blankly. “Mike doesn’t take lunch.”

Harvey had found him in a back corner of the file room, headphones in, shoving the last of a hot dog in his mouth and pounding Red Bull as he pored over the three stacks of paper in spread out in front of him.

Mike spotted him and said, through a mouthful of Red Bull-soaked hot dog, “Sorry, Louis, proofing,” which was gross enough that Harvey left him to it, and pushed back his client meeting instead.

Louis makes a show of dumping things on Mike, taunting him, treating him like his own personal minion, but it’s only because Mike is the best. He would be even without his freak memory; he sees things no one else does, picks out the pieces and fits them all together. Mike makes the law beautiful.

But it’s a lot. Even for Mike, it’s a lot.

To his credit, he keeps up — at the very least, he keeps up appearances. He shows up to every meeting, every deposition, woos clients with his boyish smile and quick tongue. Mike can be shockingly, disarmingly charming, not that Harvey would ever go on the record about it.

Mike still doesn’t work Sundays. Harvey doesn’t ask any questions, and Mike’s work is immaculate all the other days of the week, and there are no other hiccups, except for the time Mike tries to care all over him about McKernon dying. Harvey brushes him off — he’s done his mourning, at Donna’s behest, who’d showed up to his apartment with two large pizzas and and a fifth of vodka and sat through all three _Godfather_ s with him and _not talked about it_ , except once towards the end of the night, long after they’d switched to beer: “It’s okay,” she’d murmured quietly, and pretended not to notice Harvey dashing his eyes with the back of his hand. She’d been with him when he’d signed McKernon Motors, and insisted he take her out for drinks, because he could definitely afford it now; had, at some upscale Manhattan bar neither of them had ever been to before, toasted to Avery McKernon, unashamed of her chocolatini; in any case, she’d said, it was on Harvey’s card, and men who only drank scotch were overcompensating. Years later, they were on Harvey’s couch, six hours after they’d found out that McKernon had passed, and Donna, in her cutoff jeans, hair loose and tucked behind her ears, clinked his beer with hers. “To Avery McKernon,” she echoed. “He was good to us.”

Donna has always been good at saying the things Harvey can’t; also at remembering how he likes his coffee, and finishing his sentences, and knowing where everything is all the time. Harvey wonders, in the time that he hasn’t been teaching Mike how to be him, if Donna has been teaching Mike to be _her_.

Anyway, Mike doesn’t try to offer his condolences again. He also refuses to attend the associates’ Trivia Night when Harvey calls him to the office to warn him about the time-honoured Harvard Lightning Round.

“My entire job is riding on a technicality,” he says, “if I read up on Harvard just to make it seem like I actually went, that’s outright deception.” He smirks a little. “Maybe if you can convince Louis to make us take the bar exam instead.”

Harvey rolls his eyes. “You’d rather retake the bar than tell a white lie?”

“It’s not a white lie, Harvey,” Mike presses, “it’s felony fraud.”

“Ten years at least,” Donna chimes in helpfully.

“Not now, Donna,” Harvey says to his desk. To Mike, he says, “Remember when I came down to the bullpen and pointed out every associate that would never make partner?”

“How could I forget,” Mike says flatly.

“You know why they won’t?”

“Because they’re not going to Trivia Night?”

“Because they don’t get it,” Harvey tells him. “Doing good work isn’t the whole job. Part of getting it is knowing that things like Trivia Night actually matter, even when you don’t think they do.”

“I understand,” Mike concurs. “I’m still not going.”

“You’ll go and you’ll like it,” Harvey orders. Donna clears her throat warningly; she can tell, of course, that now this is just about Harvey getting his way, Pearson Hardman tradition be damned. “If I have to drag you in by your skinny tie myself.”

“Kinky,” Donna interjects. Harvey gives up and kicks Mike out of his office.

—

Mike doesn’t end up going to Trivia Night. Harvey never gets the chance to be annoyed about it; he and Ray pull up outside the Pearson Hardman building after a particularly successful settlement negotiation just in time to see an ambulance peel away from the curb. Harvey gets out of the car and says, “What,” to the general vicinity.

One of the associates, Louis’ pet punching bag, appears next to him, trembling from head to toe. “I don’t know, he was just in the file room and he — we made him drink some water and then he just — he just went _down_ —” The kid is _crying_. Harvey musters all of the patience Donna has ever forced into him and waits for him to stop rambling. 

“Who?”

“Mike,” he wails, and then seems to remember that he’s in public, and lowers his voice to a whine. “He just collapsed, I don’t —”

“Where are they taking him?” Harvey demands.

“I don’t know,” he sniffles. “Donna said you’d get a call, she said you’re his—”

On cue, Harvey’s phone rings. He answers it to a woman’s voice asking, “Harvey Specter?”

“Speaking,” Harvey says, as evenly as he can. She’s a nurse at Mount Sinai — Harvey relays this to Ray, hangs up after she rattles off a bunch of medical jargon that goes over his head, and turns back to the associate, who is scrubbing at his face with a crumpled tissue.

“You,” Harvey says.

“Me?” He looks like he might start crying again. “Harold,” he supplies, shaky.

Harvey reaches inside his breast pocket for his handkerchief and offers it to him, trying not to wince as Harold snots up Alexander Olch linen. “Tell Donna to clear my afternoon. Whatever cases Mike Ross was on, nobody touches, got it?”

He’s already in the back of the car before Harold can reply.

—

They let him in to see Mike almost immediately — his condition isn’t critical, they tell him, he’s just dehydrated, overtired, hasn’t been eating as much as he should, or very much at all. Mike appears to be asleep when Harvey sidles up to his hospital bed. He startles when Mike says, without opening his eyes, “You watching me sleep, old man?”

“Not that old,” Harvey says.

“Old enough for it to be creepy,” Mike says, finally looking at him. “Guess I won’t be going to Trivia Night.”

Harvey doesn’t even know what to say to him; he’s never been the type to keep a bedside vigil. He’s never had to be. He settles with, “I begged you to get therapy,” and Mike smiles, remembering. Of course he remembers. He looks woozy, eyes a little unfocussed, and he just keeps smiling at Harvey. Harvey wants to touch that smile, press his fingers against Mike’s mouth, his forehead against Mike’s forehead — he shakes himself. Mike is unfailingly naïve, and has the unfortunate habit of getting his feelings all over the place, but Harvey has never seen him like this, fragile; he just wants to touch him, make sure he’s still all there, can admit to feeling worry when Mike is lying in a hospital bed with a tube in his arm. Donna’s voice in his head tells him that collegial worry does not manifest in wanting to rub your faces together like cats. Harvey ignores her.

“Sit,” Mike says, so Harvey does. He touches Harvey’s arm, his shoulder, slides his hand down over Harvey’s chest, apparently unaware of himself. Harvey doesn’t know how long they sit like that. He watches Mike slip in and out of consciousness, blinking slow and lazy. Gradually, the colour returns to his face; his eyes open more fully, and he stretches a little. His lips are chapped.

“Harvey,” Mike whispers, parched. He touches Harvey’s cheek, his collarbone.

They’re interrupted by a nurse bustling in to check on Mike and replace his IV drip. “Electrolytes,” she says, probably for Harvey’s benefit. “He hasn’t eaten a square meal in two weeks, did you know?” She tuts disapprovingly.

“Nell,” Mike grumbles, and she ruffles his hair fondly. Evidently, Mike has worked his potent charm on the nurses. His hand is still on Harvey’s chest. Harvey leans back, and Mike’s arm drops to his wrist; he curls his fingers around the meat of Harvey’s palm without looking at him, too weak to tangle their fingers.

“He’ll be fine,” Nell says kindly, still talking to Harvey, “he just needs rest, and plenty of fluids.” This, she directs at Mike, stern. Mike looks appropriately chagrined. “Need anything else, honey?”

“More ice chips?” Mike says hopefully.

Nell sighs. “Only because you’re my favourite,” she says, and leaves to get Mike his ice chips.

“You didn’t have to come all this way,” Mike says very quietly.

“I’m your emergency contact,” Harvey says. “When did that happen?”

Mike looks confused, and then thoughtful.

“Donna,” they say in unison.

“How long are you going to be in here?”

Mike shrugs. “Nell said maybe a couple of days. They don’t trust me to take care of myself.”

“Neither do I,” Harvey says, and Mike takes a moment to look betrayed before his eyes fall shut once more.

Nell pushes the door open with her foot, hands full with a disposable cup and an unopened bottle of water. Harvey goes to hold the door for her; she smiles at him gratefully. She’s a head shorter than him, and her hair tie is bright pink. “You’ll be keeping him for a few more days?”

Nell turns. “I think so. He could go home tonight, but he’s still weak, and it’s probably best not to leave him to his own devices. He’ll be fine,” she adds kindly, off the look on Harvey’s face, “he just needs to take it slow. My boyfriend is the exact same, you know. Always trying to be a hero.”

Harvey has no idea what to say to that. Behind them, Mike snorts, and turns it into a cough. Harvey is saved by the bell — the PA system dings, and then a gruff voice announces a code blue.

“That’s my cue,” Nell says, rushed and apologetic, thrusting the cup of ice chips and the water bottle into Harvey’s hand, and then she’s gone, ponytail swinging.

When he returns to Mike’s side, Mike opens his mouth expectantly.

“I am _not_ feeding you ice chips.”

“You’re a terrible boyfriend,” Mike informs him.

Harvey doesn’t know what to say to that, either. Begrudgingly, he sits in the bed with Mike and scoops ice chips into his mouth with a little plastic spoon. Mike chomps on them happily.

“Harvey?”

It takes Harvey a second to realise he’s been asked a question. Mike is talking around a mouthful of ice, dribbling. “Don’t talk with your mouth full,” Harvey says automatically. He watches Mike swallow, lick his lips, chapped as they are, and Mike is grinning at him, smug.

Harvey narrows his eyes. “ _What_.”

Mike shakes his head, and then they’re interrupted again — Donna throws the door open as only Donna does, gym bag slung over her shoulder. “Mike! You’re up!” She says, clacking in on her Manolos. Harvey’d gotten them for her last Christmas. (Well. She’d gotten them for Harvey to get her last Christmas.)

She indicates the bag. “Got you your files,” she tells him, reaching down to muss his hair. “And your binky.”

“Hey,” Mike protests.

“Hello, Harvey,” Donna says, ignoring him.

“You brought him _work?_ ” Harvey asks.

“He said I could either bring it to him or he’d just come back to work to get them himself.” Donna looks at him sideways. “Terribly stubborn. I wonder where he picked it up.”

“ _Hey_ ,” Mike says again.

“No wonder his nurses don’t trust him,” Harvey says.

“I am right here, you know.”

“And you wouldn’t be if you knew how to feed yourself,” Donna says, severe. Worry pinches at her eyes.

Mike, to his credit, looks contrite. “Did you call Annie?” He asks.

Right. The girlfriend. Harvey says something about having a meeting and stands up, buttoning his jacket. Donna raises an eyebrow, but mercifully says nothing about his freshly-cleared afternoon.

—

Mike is back at work two days later, although on a two-month curfew, bundled into the elevator at exactly six pm every day by Donna herself. His first day back, he sidles into Harvey’s office with a stack of files, smiling awkwardly. “Um, the cases Donna brought me.”

“You did all that while you were in the _hospital_?”

Mike at least has the grace to look sheepish.

“Jessica wants you in her office,” Donna says over the intercom. Harvey is so relieved that it’s actually work-related and not more of her needling that he forgets to be worried.

—

They get assigned to defend Jessica’s husband.

Jessica’s ex-husband. She’d been married, divorced. A year and two months. If Quentin Sainz hadn’t come to her with this case, Harvey might have never found out about him.

“She never mentioned him?” Mike’s eyes are bugging out of his head cartoonishly. “Not one time? Not even just, like, _my husband_?”

“It happened when I was at Harvard,” Harveys says irritably. He can feel a headache starting behind his eyes. “Didn’t work out.”

Mike shakes his head in disbelief. Harvey shrugs. “We don’t talk about our personal lives.”

Mike glances at him, dubious. Harvey wonders if he’ll ever get used to his eyes. “I just think, if I loved someone that much, I’d want to talk about them all the time.” He looks a little wistful.

Harvey waves a hand dismissively, rubbing his own eyes. Mike checks his watch stands up to leave; they both have client meetings in the next hour, Mike for his pro bono, Harvey for Jessica’s ex-husband. Harvey rubs his eyes again.

“It probably still aches a little,” Mike says softly. Harvey opens his eyes to find Mike standing right in front of his desk. “That’s why she didn’t tell you. When you love someone, you carry it around for a long time.”

“God, he’s so much better at this than you,” Donna says, as soon as Mike is gone.

Harvey mutes her. His head throbs.

—

They meet again outside Quentin’s office building, Mike five minutes late as usual and babbling apologies as he locks up his bike and unrolls his pant leg. Harvey’s pant leg.

“That’s my suit,” Harvey interrupts. “My extra suit from my office.”

Mike looks down at himself as if he’d forgotten. “Oh. Yeah. I went to the client’s place and it was overrun with bedbugs, so I had to—”

“You tracked bedbugs into my office?”

“ _No_.”

“Oh, you walked in there naked?”

Mike, without looking up from his bike lock, says, “Are you thinking about me walking in there naked?” and leaves Harvey floundering on the building’s steps.

“You’re buying me a new suit!” Harvey yells at his back. He doesn’t rush after him, because he doesn’t rush after anyone.

Opposing counsel, Joshua Church, is a slimy little shit, which Harvey expected, but not to this degree. His tan is terrible and so is his tie, and he treats Mike like a footman instead of an associate. Harvey ends the meeting when Church threatens libel and calls him an ambulance-chaser just for good measure.

Mike disappears for the rest of the day, working on his pro bono; Harvey spots him in his office some time after five, slumped in a chair, digging the heels of his palms into his eyes. He’s still wearing Harvey’s suit, jacket nowhere to be seen.

“Like what you see?” Donna manifests at his side. Harvey does _not_ jump. She passes him a stack of files, mischief writ large on her face.

“You’re fired,” Harvey replies, taking them.

He drops the files in Mike’s lap a little too hard, making him start. “I have housing court in the morning,” he protests.

“It’s housing court. Your grandmother could win.”

Mike, wisely, chooses not to retort; right then, Jessica glides in, as immaculate as she’d been in the morning. “So we’ve gone from settlement to scorched earth.”

Mike jumps to his feet. “I have court in the morning,” he stammers, and slips between them, half-running out the door.

Smart move — Harvey and Jessica argue in a way they haven’t since Harvey was an associate, quitting every other week. Jessica doesn’t do well with losing cases, but this is beyond that; her eyes are hard, and there is venom in every word.

“You said you’d stay out of it,” Harvey seethes.

“Like I did with Mike Ross?” 

Harvey goes very, very still.

“I’m not stupid, Harvey,” she spits. “Some nobody kid rising up the ranks that fast? You didn’t think I’d look into that?”

“He’s a lawyer,” Harvey says. His mouth is dry, and it comes out hoarse. “He passed the bar.”

“You think I didn’t know _that_?” She says, flinty. “Like you said, he’s your associate. He’s your responsibility. And like _I_ said, in the appropriate circumstances, exceptions will be made.” She leans in very close. Harvey swallows. “I’m not blind. Mike Ross is an asset to the firm. But I gave you every chance to tell me. I trusted you, Harvey. I didn’t suspend you, and I didn’t throw that kid out on his ass as soon as I found out, and you lied to my face.”

“Are you going to fire him?” Harvey asks.

Jessica gives him a long look.

“What if I am?”

“You won’t.”

“How’s that?”

“If he goes, I go.”

Jessica’s expression falters for a fraction of a second before it hardens again, cool as ever.

“Are you trying to force my hand?’’

“I’m not staying without Mike,” Harvey says, and is terrified to find that he means it. “He passed the bar, he got his license. He’s a lawyer. He’s a good lawyer.”

“ _You didn’t tell me_ ,” Jessica growls. “You lied on his resume, you let me think he was one of those _Harvard douches_ , you let everyone think that — every client that kid has ever come in contact with. What do you think they’ll say when they find out?”

“They won’t find out.”

“Someone always finds out, Harvey!” She’s shouting now. “And then it comes down on me, as managing partner — that I knowingly participated in your fraud, or that I was a fool for not seeing what was right under my nose.”

“I didn’t—”

“Stop it, Harvey. I will get past this. I will move on. And I will accept that, at the end of the day, as I stand, I am and have always been alone.”

“Jessica.” Her eyes are dark. “I’m sorry.”

Her anger ebbs away. She looks tired, disappointed, but her posture doesn’t change. “I trusted you and you threw it in my face,” she says, unwavering. “Against my better judgement, I am choosing to trust you again.” She shoves the file at his chest. “Make it go away.”

“I promise,” Harvey says, and means it.

—

It’s a promise Harvey intends to make good on, but Jessica takes it out of his hands and makes herself the lead on the case. Harvey doesn’t protest; can’t, after yesterday. He goes back to Pearson Hardman only to find that Mike has lost in housing court, which Harvey didn’t even know was possible. Harvey is fighting the impulse to ream him out when Mike’s phone chimes. He checks it, eyes lighting up, and jogs off, then doubles back to shove a disposable coffee cup in Harvey’s hand.

“Yours, forgot, sorry, gotta go,” he pants, and jogs away again. Harvey stares after him. Well.

He prepares for his deposition with Lisa, Quentin’s new girlfriend, and a consultant for his company, Sainz Pharmaceuticals. Something doesn’t add up; at the risk of re-inducing her wrath, he shoots a text to Jessica, asking her to ask Quentin about the legitimacy of the clinical trials. It probably seems cruel, to her, but once Harvey finds a loose thread he cannot help but pick at it. His phone buzzes with a reply: the address to some bar in downtown Manhattan, and nothing else.

When he arrives, Jessica is almost at the bottom of her scotch. “I see I have some catching up to do,” Harvey says, treading lightly.

Jessica is staring into the middle distance, and doesn’t look at him when she speaks. “People are stupid when they’re young. Do you wanna know why?”

“I wanna know why they’re stupid all the other years of their lives.” Jessica doesn’t laugh, but she lets Harvey take her drink, which is a good sign. He sips. “Glenfiddich. Smooth.”

“You never got married.” It’s not a question.

“Now we’re sharing our personal lives?”

“ _Til death do us part_ ,” Jessica broods. She still won’t look at him. It’s a little scary; Harvey’s never seen her like this before. “I actually believed it.”

“Did he falsify the clinical trials?” Harvey asks gently.

Jessica shakes her head once. “He says he wouldn’t do that.”

“So why are we drinking?”

“He says he wouldn’t do that,” she says again, finally looking at him, “because he needs the drug to work.” Abruptly, Harvey understands, even before she says the words: “He’s dying. Quentin has ALS.”

There’s nothing in the world Harvey can say to her. He is deeply, cripplingly overwhelmed by the urge to fix this, to make it all go away, but he can’t, not this time. Instead, he touches her arm gingerly; she looks at him, and for the first time ever Harvey sees her face crumple. He thinks about Mike saying, _When you love someone, you carry it around_ , and moves his hand to her shoulder. She sags into his side, and Harvey pretends not to notice her tears soaking his lapel.

“You’re not alone,” he says quietly.

Harvey can count on one hand the number of people in his life that he loves. He rarely ever says it, and hears it back just as often. But after a while, Jessica picks her head up, smooths down his tie and says, “We’re okay,” and Harvey feels it, knows it’s there. He can tell, when Jessica looks him in the eye, that she knows, too.

—

“Mike, we got work to do, where are you — oh, I’m looking at you now in Conference Room C.” Harvey hangs up the phone as Mike tells a conference room of people that he’ll be right back and comes out to meet Harvey at the door, a little breathless.

“AA meeting? Here in the office?”

“Funny. No. It’s my lawsuit.”

“Which suit is that?”

“Against Johnny Karinski. You know, housing court? I realised it’s — they drove all these people out. From Frank’s — the plaintiff’s building, and the one Rachel and I are about to buy into.”

Harvey blinks at him, and then at Rachel, who is still in the conference room, speaking very seriously with an elderly Asian woman.

“Um, we’re married,” Mike explains, then shakes his head. “I mean, not — it’s a long story. I tracked down fifteen tenants willing to testify to all manner of harassment that forced them out of their apartment.”

“You did this overnight?”

“Yeah, I couldn’t sleep anyway.” Mike looks suddenly terrified. “Please don’t tell Donna.”

Harvey is struck by the profound and all-consuming urge to kiss him, right there in the hallway, in full view of the associates and several junior partners and Rachel and all her plaintiffs. Instead, he jerks his head towards the conference room. “Good work. Keep at it.”

Mike pinks, obviously pleased. Harvey walks away from him, back towards his office, and stops in front of Donna’s cubicle. “Donna—”

“You have to say it,” Donna says, without looking up from her monitor.

Harvey sighs. Donna doesn’t budge.

“You were right,” he mumbles.

Donna looks up at him, smiling kindly. “I know.”

—

Mike, Harvey finds, aside from being brilliant, charming, and painfully guileless, is furiously distracting. He gets a better haircut, nicer shoes. Has the niggling habit of worrying his bottom lip between his teeth when he’s thinking particularly hard.

Harvey gives up pretending not to notice.

Mike gets stronger. His curfew ends, and he goes back to working long and late, although he starts showing up to work with a sack lunch like he’s back in elementary school. He’s eating, at least, and always orders dinner if he’s at the firm past six, bad Chinese and soft tacos and pizza with cheese in the crust, because he’s a literal child.

“You know that’s on the firm, right?” Harvey says one night when he finds Mike on the floor of the file room, shovelling chicken nuggets into his mouth, papers spread out around him like the world’s plainest jigsaw. “You could order a whole roast pig if you wanted to.”

Mike looks up at him, mouth full, and offers him the chicken nugget carton.

“I’ll pass,” Harvey says, amused.

Mike swallows and gets to his feet. There’s dust on his knees. He shrugs. “It’s comfort food.”

“What did you do to your suit?”

He looks down at himself and grimaces. “Ugh. They need to vacuum in here more often.”

“Or you could work in the bullpen like a normal person,” Harvey suggests.

Mike shakes his head. He gestures vaguely to the paperwork patchwork on the floor. “Not enough room. When I can see all the pieces, I can put them together faster.”

“From now on,” Harvey says, before he can stop himself, “if you need somewhere to go, you can use my office.”

Mike’s eyes widen. “Okay,” he says, nodding too much, “yeah, okay. I mean, thank you.”

Harvey claps him on the shoulder and leaves him to his chicken nuggets.

—

Harvey does not often make mistakes, and even less often does he admit to them. And yet.

Donna laughs at him. Harvey ignores her. She laughs at him all the time. Just like Mike is now in his office _all the time_.

“Hey,” he says the first time Harvey finds him sprawled out on the carpet, scrambling to his feet, “uh, you said I could—”

Harvey waves him off and walks right back out of his office.

“I’m not going back in there to get your subpoena for you,” Donna says immediately.

Harvey winces. “Please?”

She gives him a look.

“Pretty please with a pair of Louboutins on top?”

“You’re pathetic,” she informs him, but she gets his subpoena anyway.

Harvey, as with everything he does, has perfectly sound reasoning for not talking about his feelings, ever; it makes it that much easier to force them to the pit of his stomach and digest them. He’d explained this to Donna back when they were working at the DA’s office, and she’d looked at him like she felt sorry for him. At the time, Harvey hadn’t understood it.

“I need the Rothberg paperwork.” He’d flapped his hand at her to mean, _Gimme_.

“You need _therapy_ ,” Donna had said, handing it over.

Harvey scoffed, and she never brought it up again. Not until Mike.

“It’s okay to say it, you know,” Donna says now, pressing the subpoena to his chest.

“Say what?” Harvey asks, scanning it.

She kicks his shin. He yelps. “ _What?_ ”

Donna crosses her arms, entirely unapologetic. “Don't be obtuse with me.” Her face softens, and she steps in close, smoothing down his collar. “One time, Harvey. Say how you feel. Would it really be the worst thing in the world?”

“Honestly, yeah,” Harvey admits.

She shakes her head at him, looks at him like she had that day at the DA’s office, sad, sorry for him.

Harvey looks at Mike, cross-legged on the floor of his office, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, scribbling furiously on a yellow legal pad. He thinks he might understand, now.

—

Jones Debeque is everything Harvey likes in a client — rich _and_ attractive, if a little overzealous. Mike spends a little too long looking at the photos of him in his file, and flushes when Harvey raises an eyebrow.

“Mediterranean?” He guesses.

“Turkish. But he’s from Australia.”

Mike considers this. “What’s he coming all the way out here for?”

Harvey lifts a shoulder. “Housekeeping.”

“And?”

“And?”

It’s Mike’s turn to raise an eyebrow. Harvey concedes, sighing.

“He spent the last week at a resort run by his biggest competitor.”

“Maybe they’re friends.”

Harvey shakes his head. “They know each other, but not like that.”

“Maybe they’re sleeping together,” Mike snickers.

Harvey sighs again. “He’s thinking merger.”

Mike smirks. “I bet.”

—

Jones signs everything Harvey gives him, game as ever. Harvey endures his terrible jokes, if only because they’re endearing. Jones is all smiles; his hair has gotten longer, curling around his ears and the nape of his neck.

Donna makes an obscene gesture with her fist and mouth. Harvey is glad he’s standing behind Jones, because it means he can flip her off properly.

“Who said passion wasn’t productive, eh?” Jones says, slapping down a newly-signed form with his signature flourish.

Harvey reassumes his composure. “I…don’t know anyone that’s ever said that.”

Jones shrugs and starts filling in another form.

“Jones, tell me something.” Jones looks up, expectant. “You have thirty-one hotels in twelve different countries, but you spent last week at Daniel Vega’s Lisbon resort.”

Jones freezes. “What? It’s nothing. Just, you know. Checking out the competition.” His face is suddenly very red.

“Oh, my god,” Harvey realises out loud, “you _are_ sleeping together.”

Jones shoulders sag. He sighs, defeated. “I don’t suppose this is a good time to tell you that we’re thinking about merging.”

Harvey imagines Mike’s smirk and fights the impulse to smack Jones upside the head. “Was that before or after?”

Jones winces. “During?”

Harvey’s eyes close.

“Hear me out,” Jones protests, “combined, we’re a hundred hotels in twenty-three countries. It’s a good deal!”

“And it’s my job to get you a better one, okay? Promise me you didn’t do a handshake deal.”

Jones grins guiltily. “I mean…it wasn’t really a handshake.”

Harvey groans. Mike is going to have a _field day_.

—

“I knew it!” Mike crows when Harvey breaks the news. “Holy shit, I should have put money on it.”

“What, I don’t pay you enough?”

Mike makes a face at him.

“They’re still merging,” Harvey says, just to be right about something.

Mike’s stupid little smirk reappears. “ _Yeah_ they are.”

Harvey throws a file at him. “Get out of my office.”

“Um, I have a mock trial.”

“In my office?”

“No, but—”

“Then why are you still here?”

Mike looks at him plaintively, eyes huge and lip trembling. Clearly he’s been spending far too much time with Donna. “Please, sensei? I’m out of my league here."

Harvey sighs. “Come here.”

Mike leans in close; his breath ghosts across Harvey’s cheek. “Not _that_ here,” Harvey says, poking him in the chest. Mike takes a step back, then rocks forward on his heels, waiting. “Listen: don’t go to trial.”

Mike looks adorably confused. “It’s a mock trial, the — trial part is kind of a prerequisite?”

“Law is about control,” Harvey tells him. It occurs to him that Mike will probably be able to recite this back to him, ad nauseum. “You can only control so much with a jury, judge, witnesses, and another lawyer with an ego complex.”

“What if the lawyer doesn’t have an ego complex?”

“Every lawyer has an ego complex.”

Mike shuts his mouth obediently.

“The firm has presented an exercise where there’s potential for failure, okay? All I’m saying is, try and create a situation where that’s not even a possibility. Kobayashi Maru.”

Mike, annoyingly, is still standing in his office. “Koba-what now?”

Harvey sighs for what feels like the ninetieth time today. “ _Star Trek_. Captain Kirk. He wins a no-win situation by rewriting the rules.”

“You’re a _trekkie_ ,” Mike breathes, in tones of great scientific discovery.

Harvey bristles. “Hey. Captain Kirk is the man, okay? I don’t want to hear another word about it. Now enough with your fake law problem, let’s deal with my real one.”

“Aye aye, Captain,” Mike intones, and at last leaves his office. Harvey doesn’t let himself smile until he’s out of sight.

—

Scottie is a shock to his system, but she’s also a breath of fresh air. He understands her, understands their dynamic, how her mind works, her body. He grazes his knuckles over her ribs and she shivers like he knew she would. She bites at his mouth in retaliation, draws a noise out of him that he will absolutely deny making later.

It’s so easy to be with Scottie; she understands him, too, in a way that nobody else does. She doesn’t hold it over his head, either, just zips up her dress and reverts back to negotiating their case, not a hair out of place.

“Vega has more property.”

“Debeque has more potential.”

“Which is harder to monetarily define,” she argues. The light in their hotel room is muted by translucent white curtains, making her eyes shine three different shades of green at once.

Harvey lets himself relax for the first time in months.

—

“How’d the negotiation go?” Donna asks when he arrives back at the office, the picture of perfect innocence. “You come out on _top_?”

Harvey rolls his eyes. “Why didn’t you tell me Scottie was opposing counsel?”

“Because I didn’t want you to have performance anxiety,” she whispers. Harvey shoots her a look. “About the case! She’s tough.”

“And you tell me I’m obvious.”

“I’m telling you your fly’s unzipped.”

“No it isn’t.”

“But it was earlier today.” She gasps, raising her hand for a high five.

“You can do better,” Harvey chides.

“Is that what Scottie said?”

“Just type up the deal points,” Harvey mutters, because he can’t win, not with Donna. She gives him a gloating grin and tosses him a new tie from her desk drawer.

Mike hurtles into his office, looking harried, and stops short. His eyes widen. “What is _that_?”

Harvey is in the middle of changing his tie; he needs to wash Scottie off the other one. Too late, he realises a bruise is peeking over his undone collar, the imprint of Scottie’s teeth.

“I plead the fifth,” Harvey says, savouring the look on Mike’s face. He’s already on his way out when he asks, “Is that all?”

“What? No. Harvey!” Mike yells after him. “I have questions! About mergers!”

—

By the time Harvey has combed through Mike’s review of Vega’s books, Mike still hasn’t come back to the office, so Harvey swings by the bullpen, and catches Louis in the doorway, spying on Mike and Kyle bickering over a cubicle partition.

Louis sighs wistfully. “You know, they remind me of a younger, less-attractive me and you.”

Harvey grimaces. “Please don’t say things like that.”

“Aren’t you excited to see what your boy is made of?”

A wave of heat floods Harvey’s face; he shakes it off, gritting his teeth. “You talking bet?”

“Yeah.”

“Usual amount,” Harvey agrees, and marches into the bullpen, shooing Kyle away. Kyle retreats without a word. Mike watches him go, bemused.

“You’re going to trial,” Harvey tells him.

Mike turns his bemusement onto Harvey. “What? But you said—”

“I know what I said, and now I’m saying you’re going to trial.”

“I’m not ready for trial,” Mike panics, “you said to settle, so—”

“Shut up.” Mike shuts up. “Did you get him to sign anything?”

“No.”

“Then you haven’t settled, and I’m willing to bet Kyle is going to use that against you.”

“So what do I do?”

“Don’t play the case. Play the man.”

Mike shakes his head, confused.

“Good lawyers worry about facts,” Harvey says. “Great lawyers worry about their opponents. You knew that case back to front the moment you laid eyes on it. What do you know about Kyle?”

Mike chews his lip; absurdly, Harvey thinks of Scottie, the curve of her mouth, waxy with lipstick. Mike’s voice forces him back to the present: “He’s cocky. Devious. I get why Louis likes him.”

“So use that against him.”

Mike still looks worried, but he nods. “Okay. Anything else?”

“Kick his ass.”

—

Mike kills at mock trial. Of course he does: he is, after all, Harvey’s boy. Somehow, he’s wrangled Donna into playing his defendant, and Donna, unsurprisingly, plays it just right, sobbing and quivering like a true woman scorned. Louis looks gobsmacked; Jessica suppresses a smile. Donna catches Harvey’s eye and winks.

He doesn’t get the chance to congratulate Mike himself; the other associates pile on him, slapping him on the back and cheering. Harvey even sees money exchange hands; apparently, he and Louis aren’t the only ones with a score to settle.

Speak of the devil — Louis is waiting in Harvey’s office, slapping a thick envelope against his palm. “Not a word,” he snarls, and stomps out.

Harvey gives the envelope to Donna. “Your Louboutins,” he says, holding it a little out of reach.

Donna snatches it from him, eyes narrowed. Despite all of her theatrics on the stand, her makeup is perfectly intact. “Tonight, wear blue,” she instructs. “She likes you in blue.”

“Who — oh.”

Donna smirks.

—

Harvey built his career off of following his instincts; he doesn’t, as a rule, doubt his gut. Something bugs him, even as Scottie hitches her skirt up her thighs, bites at his throat, pins his hands by his head and lowers herself onto him. She’s radiant in the afterglow, her skin sanguine and dewy, and something is _off_.

When he figures it out, Harvey feels like he’s been slapped. He knows Scottie, understands her, and she blindsided him, used him. She leaves his apartment unrepentant, wearing his shirt, and Harvey feels like he’s watching the retreating figure of a stranger.

He gets a cab back to the office and puts Scottie firmly out of his mind. There’s work to be done.

The sun has long set, but Donna is still at her desk, texting one-handed. “What are you doing here?”

“Waiting to be picked up,” Donna says, eyes on her phone, “I have a date. What are _you_ doing here? Shouldn’t you be going to town on your _merger_?”

Harvey says nothing. Donna looks up at him questioningly, and then her mouth tightens like she knows, even though she couldn’t possibly.

“Harvey—” she starts.

“Don’t,” he bites out.

Her shoulders sink, but she nods. “You want me to call Mike?”

“No,” he says, “I’ll do it.”

Donna leaves after a few minutes, knocking on his door to let him know. She squeezes his arm before she goes.

Mike is jogging into his office not twenty minutes later, hair sticking up all over the place like he just rolled out of bed. “Hey, you were right,” he exhales, and takes a moment to catch his breath. “There’s been a steady stream of stock-buying by Vega’s company in the last twenty-four hours.”

“It’s a hostile takeover,” Harvey says. It comes out hoarse.

Mike sits down next to him. Harvey can’t look at him like this, bedhead and ratty Chuck Taylors and his worn grey t shirt pulling across his shoulders and chest.

“Why are they disguising it as a merger?” Mike is saying.

“They wanted access to our private books. She tricked me.”

Mike does an actual, real-life double take. “What?”

“She pretended she didn’t want to hand over their books so I wouldn’t notice when she asked for ours. It’s a classic manoeuvre. She made me think it was my idea.”

Mike is wearing his traditional expression of bewilderment. “How do you know that?”

“I taught her how to do it.”

A strange look flits across Mike’s face, gone so quickly Harvey might have imagined it. Mike clears his throat. “So now they see how strong Debeque’s company is, and they wanna buy it?”

“And they’ll be running it by the time Scottie’s back in London,” Harvey nods.

“Wow,” Mike tsks. “I leave you alone for two days…”

He’s teasing, but Harvey feels oddly warmed. “Yeah, this is my mistake,” he allows. “This is Halley’s comet. Take a good look, ’cause it won’t happen again.”

Mike’s lips twitch. “Mr Spock, you’re the most cold-blooded man I’ve ever known.”

It’s the easiest thing in the world to say, “Why, thank you, Doctor,” and watch Mike smile at him, soft and a little sleepy.

—

Harvey has Jones and Vega in a hotel room together by the next afternoon, but not before a sleepless night of drawing up documents. When Harvey and Scottie arrive, not looking at each other, they find the two of them sitting close, murmuring quietly, and it would honestly be sweet if it wasn’t nauseating.

“I’m sorry,” Daniel Vega says, covering Jones hand with his own. Harvey can’t even look at them, God.

“Let’s just go back to the original deal,” Jones says, intertwining their fingers.

“We can run it together,” Daniel agrees.

Harvey clears his throat loudly and manages to get through the rest of the meeting without throwing up everywhere.

He and Scottie let out twin sighs of relief when the door shuts behind them.

For the first time since they got here, Scottie speaks to him directly. “Did you know that they were…?”

“What?” Harvey asks, doe-eyed, unable to help himself.

Scottie mashes her hands together, pulling a face at him. Harvey snorts; she’s still Scottie. The same Scottie.

“You got a plane to catch?” He asks, as they wait for the elevator. Scottie presses her lips together, looks away from him.

“I just got fired.”

“Not from the firm.”

“No,” she agrees, “but the firm won’t be happy.”

“Well, then,” Harvey says, sliding the tips of his fingers up her arm, “however will you pass the time?”

Scottie steps into the elevator ahead of him, smiling a little sadly. “Not with you.”

“Come on,” Harvey says, getting in after her, “we’re still friends, aren’t we?”

“I’m getting married, Harvey,” she says, and it _hurts_. Harvey tries to push the hurt down into his stomach but it worms its way back up, stabbing at his sternum. “His name is Viyan, and he asked me a month ago, and when I get back to London, I’m — I’m going to say yes.”

The elevator doors slide open. Harvey’s eyes don’t leave Scottie. “What would you like me to say?” It’s not really a question.

Scottie swallows. Her eyes are shiny with tears. “Nothing,” she whispers, and steps out the elevator. Harvey follows her, grabs her arm. Can’t help himself.

“Come here,” he murmurs. She wraps her arms around him without protest. They cling to each under fluorescent glare of lobby lights, the last time Harvey will ever hold her. 

“I’m sorry I won,” Harvey says.

She laughs wetly in his ear. “No you’re not.”

She’s the same Scottie. His Scottie. 

—

Donna, in all her wisdom, doesn’t try to talk to him about it; in fact, she acts as if it never happened, just goes back to trading barbs with him and being excellent as her job, same as always.

Mike comes into his office with an armful of files piled so high he can barely see over the top of them. “Hey,” he says from behind a wall of paper, “how’d it go with Debeque?”

“Fine,” Harvey says curtly.

Mike lowers the files a little so he can look at Harvey properly. “Okay,” he says slowly, “are you okay?”

Harvey doesn’t know how to answer that, so he doesn’t. Mike, to his credit, doesn’t push it, just sinks to the floor and starts working his way through whatever grunt work Louis has foisted on him.

Harvey has only has one meeting, late in the evening, and it’s just a courtesy, nothing he needs Mike for, so the two of them stay in his office like that all day, working to the soundtrack of Harvey’s rapid-fire typing and Mike’s highlighter hissing across paper. At around two, Mike stretches, yawning.

“Shouldn’t Donna be force-feeding you your dinosaur nuggets by now?” Harvey says absently.

“I’m not hungry,” Mike shrugs, and goes scarlet when his stomach rumbles catastrophically.

“You haven’t eaten either,” he points out. “Wanna grab a hotdog?”

Harvey opens his mouth to refuse and for some reason says, “Sure.”

Mike keeps up a nonstop stream of chatter, which does not surprise Harvey in the least. He thanks Harvey for rescuing him from Louis that morning, catches him up on the embezzlement case the firm is going to trial for in fourteen hours. Harvey tells him about Jerome Jensen and his familial entanglements, and Mike gets a scheming look in his eye.

“Trade you,” he says.

Harvey blinks at him, mouth full of hotdog.

“I’ve done what I can with the Anthony Maslow thing,” Mike explains. “There’s a paper trail that shows he’s embezzling from Stable Shelters, and how, and when, but I don’t know where the money is going, and I don’t know how to figure it out. Rachel said financial crime is Louis’ thing and I _really_ don’t want to have to go to him.”

Harvey arches an eyebrow. “You’re scared of Louis?”

“You would be, too, if you’d seen the things I've seen,” Mike shudders. “Seriously, I know Louis is old, but he’s not naked-conversations-in-the-locker-room old. Jesus Christ. Anyway _._ Want to swap?”

—

Mike closes Jerome Jensen's case in nothing flat.

When Harvey asks him how, Mike just shakes his head and tells him not to worry about it. And, for good measure, hands him the smoking gun for the Stable Shelters case, too. They still end up going to Louis, but by the morning every penny is back exactly where it belongs.

Lucille Jackson, Stable Shelters’ executive director, has been with the firm for a long time; she’s spunky and single-minded and has clearly spent her whole life not taking any shit. Harvey adores her. She nearly breaks down when they give her the good news, hugging Jessica and then Harvey and then Louis and then Jessica again.

Harvey catches Mike watching them when he holds the door for Lucille, leaning on a cubicle partition. Harvey gives him a nod and turns away. He doesn’t want Mike to see him smile like that.

—

Harvey doesn’t think about Scottie once for three days after that — and then Donna hands him a package one morning, looking tender and apologetic. Harvey opens it at his desk — it’s his shirt, the one Scottie had left with, freshly laundered and pressed.

Donna lets him have a moment, then marches into his office and shuts the door behind her. “I’m going to hug you now,” she informs him, and does, arms around his waist, head against his chest. Harvey doesn’t protest, and anyway he doesn’t really want to; Donna makes him stronger.

She releases him after a minute, pats him on the chest, and says, “No moping. It doesn’t suit you.”

“I don’t _mope_ ,” Harvey scoffs, and then everything is okay. Donna has never failed at making everything okay.

The shirt is tucked away in the bottom drawer of his desk, still in its half-ripped packaging. There wasn’t a note. Harvey had half-expected one, but he finds that it’s a relief not to hear from Scottie; he’s grateful to her for this, at least, for a gentle, inconspicuous ending.

Summer comes around and Mike starts coming to work in bike shorts and ratty band t shirts, changing into his suit at work so that he doesn’t sweat through it. Harvey only knows this because he goes into work early one morning to find Mike in his office buttoning his dress pants, shirt undone and belt hanging unbuckled.

“What the fuck,” Harvey says.

Mike launches into a harried explanation; his blush goes all the way down, Harvey notes, freckles on his shoulders and chest.

“I really do not care,” he interrupts Mike mid-sentence, and turns on his heel.

He doesn’t miss Donna’s smirk on his way out, but he ignores it.

Mercifully, the next time they see each other, Mike is fully clothed; Harvey is pleased to see that he’s invested in some cufflinks, and even a —

“Hey, my eyes are up here,” Mike says, snapping a finger under his nose. Harvey pays no heed.

“Is that a rainbow tie clip?”

It is, in fact, a rainbow tie clip, a brass bar plated with blocks of colour, glinting. Mike holds it up, looking incredibly chuffed. “It’s a _pride_ tie clip.”

“It’s ridiculous,” Harvey observes.

“It was a gift,” Mike retorts indignantly.

“ _You’re_ ridiculous,” Harvey says.

“But you need me,” Mike says, touching Harvey’s chest with mock-tenderness, and then carries on talking about contract clauses like he _didn’t just fucking do that_.

“Honestly, Harvey, this is getting embarrassing,” Donna tells him later, like she’s trying very hard not to laugh at him.

“You’re fired,” Harvey says.

“But you need me,” she replies, smirking.

—

Mike wears his pride clip every single day, much to Harvey’s chagrin and Donna’s delight. The other associates must make fun of him for it, but Mike remains unperturbed; in fact, he seems disproportionately proud of it. Harvey overhears Donna ask him about it once, and Mike just shrugs, saying, “It says more about them than me, don’t you think?” and that’s that.

Mike has been tripping all over himself since he was hired at Pearson Hardman — there’s a reason Harvey and Donna still do the puppy bit with him. It’s easy to forget how self-assured he is — in the law, in his own identity. Hell, that’s how he got himself hired in the first place; nobody in the course of Harvey’s career has ever looked him in the eye and told him point-blank that he couldn’t beat them. It gives Harvey pause, makes him linger on Mike’s stupid tie clip, his hands, the curve of his jaw, the shell of his ear.

The giant fuck-off coffee stain on his chest. “What the hell happened to you?”

Mike pulls the fabric away from skin, wincing. “Uh, this intern from research—”

“What’s his name?” Harvey demands, picking up the phone. “Donna—”

“Harvey, you can’t fire—”

“Watch me,” Harvey challenges, “what’s him name?”

Mike gives him a long-suffering look that reminds Harvey alarmingly of Donna. “ _Their_ name is Montgomery,” he says pointedly, “and you are not going to fire them for spilling coffee on me. Or sue,” he adds, when Harvey opens his mouth.

Harvey would push it, but Donna is glaring daggers at him, so he doesn’t. “Are you burnt?”

Mike shakes his head. “It wasn’t that hot — it was already mostly empty. Monty was late to some meeting with their supervisor and just came around the corner too fast. They didn’t even know I was there. It’s fine, I’ll just work from the file room and nobody will see me.”

Harvey rolls his eyes, because it is so like Mike to make friends with some research flunky that spilled coffee all over him. “No you can’t,” he reminds him, “we’re deposing Martin Folsom in twenty minutes.”

“Oh, shit,” Mike says, “um, I can just call—”

“Mr Folsom and his attorney are here,” Donna sings.

“Oh, _shit_ ,” Mike says again, panicking now, “you said twenty minutes!”

“They’re early,” Donna says, her tone implying _duh_. “Go, Harvey, I’ll sort him out.”

Mike joins Harvey and Martin Folsom and his attorney, Mishra, in the conference room ten minutes later, wearing a light blue shirt — Harvey’s shirt, previously hidden away in his desk drawer. Harvey’s tie, too, Italian silk with indigo and gold stripes. “So sorry to keep you waiting, gentlemen,” he says, the picture of class, and deposes Martin Folsom so skilfully and thoroughly that Harvey knows none of them notice that Mike’s shirt is a little too loose, floating around his torso, the sleeves too long, bunching at the wrists.

Not that it would matter if they did. Mike could conduct a deposition in a tutu.

—

Mike returns Harvey’s tie at the end of the day, but Harvey tells him to keep the shirt; he has to uphold the firm’s image, and he can’t do that if he’s seen leaving the building covered in coffee, and anyway, Harvey doesn’t want to have to handle a shirt that smells like Mike. (He doesn’t vocalise that last part.)

“Thank you,” Donna says, swinging her handbag onto her shoulder. “I didn’t want to be seen having dinner with someone who looks like they were accosted by a Keurig."

“You’re having dinner?” Harvey feels himself goggling.

“Don’t feel left out, Harvey,” Donna says, patting him on the shoulder, “I’m not bringing my girlfriend, either,” and leaves before her words can even register.

Harvey rubs his forehead. Clearly, at some point, he lost all authority, and nobody even bothered to notify him.

—

When Mike finds out they have to fire Stan Jacobson, he’s livid.

“I’m not happy about it either,” Harvey tells him. He isn’t. Dreibach Accounting has been with Pearson Hardman for years, as both their accountant and client, and Tori Lane, the CEO, is a good friend of Jessica’s; Harvey’s used to doing favours for them, appearing at charity galas and making DUIs go away and other Wall Street tripe, but never anything like this.

It was at a charity gala that Tori had approached them and told them she needed Stan gone. “You know, he’s done great work for us,” she said, dripping with faux-regret and far too many rhinestones, “I really am shocked.”

“Tell us where it hurts, and we’ll make it go away,” Jessica promised.

“Thank you,” Tori said, clasping Jessica’s hand, “He’s always kept to himself, you know, very discreet about his — inclinations — but recently…” She trailed off, sighing. Harvey had hoped beyond hope that her sentence wasn’t headed where he thought it was. “He’s getting married,” she whispered. “Handing out invitations at the office, really, and he brought his —” She stopped, making a face.

“Partner?” Harvey supplied, blood boiling.

“Yes, well, he brought him to a _firm dinner_ last month, and I just —” She sighed again. Harvey, seeing red, didn’t trust himself not to call her something unforgivable, and bit his tongue. “It’s just not right,” she said sadly, shaking her head, “he’s an asset to us, of course, but it’s just not right.”

Jessica’s mouth was set in a grim line, but she had merely nodded. This isn’t a battle she can afford to fight — not as managing partner, as the face of the firm. And now that Harvey’s a senior partner, he can’t, either.

“What about me?” Mike says. “You can tell Jessica I went rogue.”

Harvey huffs, amused. “As if Jessica would believe that.”

“Is _she_ okay with this?”

“It’s not about what Jessica is okay with,” Harvey says blearily. It’s the middle of the night, and he’s still in his tux from the gala. Mike is wearing a threadbare grey sweater and an expression of supreme fury. “It’s about the firm.”

“A firm that would rather fire an innocent man over some trumped-up charge than cut ties with a company run by a bigoted pig-woman.”

Harvey makes a valiant effort not to snort. “They’re our accounting firm.”

“There are other accounting firms.”

“They’re our client, too. They bring in ten million dollars a year. We can’t just cut them off.”

“It’s disgusting, Harvey,” Mike spits, and leaves without saying goodbye.

He’s still fuming the next morning. Harvey understands his anger, but his own has gone cold, settled firmly in the pit of his stomach. He’s used to having to do that, by now; Mike will have to learn to do the same, if he wants to survive as a lawyer.

“Stan’s waiting in my office,” Harvey tells him. Mike is wearing his rainbow tie clip, he notices.

“We can’t do this,” Mike says. The tie clip glitters, bouncing light into Harvey’s eyes.

“We don’t have a choice.”

“This is fucking absurd, Harvey. Who is even homophobic anymore? Who has the fucking time?”

“I don’t know,” Harvey says, trying his level best to stay patient, “but Tori Lane has a lot of money, and _we_ don't have a choice.”

“We can’t do this,” Mike presses, clutching Harvey’s hand. He looks like his heart is shattering all over the floor right there in the hallway. “Pearson Hardman has an anti-discrimination policy.”

“Stan doesn’t work for Pearson Hardman,” Harvey says, letting go of Mike’s hand a little too late, and then it hits him. “But he could.”

—

In the end, they do fire Stan Jacobson, but only so they can hire him again. Harvey runs to Jessica with Mike’s idea, and they spend the afternoon helping Stan incorporate, file his paperwork, negotiate his severance with Dreibach. Jessica makes sure that Jacobson-Holt Accounting is legally in place by the end of the day; such are the privileges of her position. Holt, as it turns out, is Stan’s fiancé, just as good with numbers and just as much of a baseball fanatic.

“That’s all well and good,” Jessica says, once the dust has mostly settled, “but two consultants do not an accounting firm make. They can’t do the books all by themselves."

“Are you sure?” Harvey asks. Stan and Holt — whose first name is Kevin — have almost Mike-level freak brains, and seem to be doing just fine.

Jessica gives him a look.

“Um, I actually have an idea for that,” Mike says. “If I may,” he adds quickly. Jessica nods. 

So Mike brings on his friend Jenny — Jenny, who is so sweet Harvey would think she was taking the piss if not for the tremor in her voice. Her hair is blonde, slightly curly, and falls over her face in curtains when she bends down to sign the paperwork employing her as a headhunter for Jacobson-Holt Accounting. Her nails are painted lilac, and there’s a slim gold band on the ring finger of her left hand. 

Mike and Jenny’s dynamic is strange — too cautious, every move too telegraphed. Harvey wonders if there’s something there; maybe there used to be, because Mike isn’t the one that put that ring on Jenny’s finger. She hugs him when he drops her off at the elevators, nodding at something he says.

“So,” Mike starts, wandering up to him, shaking Harvey out of his stupor, “say there’s this kid, no degree, no college credits, no nothing — but he’s smart. And he’s a fucking good lawyer. You think, if he knew the right people, he could do what Stan Jacobson did? Make something of himself?”

Harvey doesn’t answer for a while. It never occurred to him before now that at some point, Mike might leave him, or that he’d even want to. He discovers that he absolutely cannot think about that, not without feeling like he’s been sucker-punched. Eventually, he says, “You said he’s smart?”

Mike smiles a little. “Yeah.” He puts on a terrible Boston accent. “ _Wicked smaht_.”

Harvey can’t help but roll his eyes. “Then he’ll be okay.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Harvey nods. “After all,” and his Boston accent is so much better than Mike’s, “my boy’s wicked smart.”

—

Harvey calls Donna the next evening, heart racing. “I really, really don’t want him to go.”

“Harvey?” Donna sounds alarmed. “Do you have pneumonia again? Are you having that Jake Gyllenhaal hallucination?”

“No, Donna—” Harvey sighs, exasperated.

“Oh, no,” Donna says.

“What?” Harvey sits up straight. “What’s oh no?”

“Oh, _Harvey_.”

—

Harvey finds himself invited to movie night with Donna and her girlfriend, which he protests heavily, because that’s a little weird — even for them, it’s a little weird. But he acquiesces, because Donna is scary, and if she didn’t really want him there she would have just hung up on him.

Donna’s girlfriend turns out to be Mike’s favourite nurse. Harvey jumps a little when she opens the door. “Hi,” he says, startled.

“Hello,” she grins, and waves him inside.

“Harvey, you remember Nell,” Donna says, sat on the couch in flannel pyjamas, looking, as always, immaculate.

“I don’t think we’ve been formally introduced,” Nell says, cheery as the day they’d first met, “Janelle Choi. It’s lovely to see you.”

“Likewise,” Harvey says, pulling himself together, “uh, Harvey. Specter. But you knew that.”

Nell explains, while Harvey and Donna fight over the popcorn bowl, that she and Donna got talking over Mike’s hospital bed; Nell likes Shakespeare, and Donna has season tickets to the Lincoln Centre, front row, so she’d left her number with Nell, and Nell, after things fell apart with her boyfriend, had called it.

They’re doing a Julia Roberts marathon, because Nell likes romantic comedies and Donna, very clearly, likes Nell; Harvey catches her reaching for Nell’s hand, squeezing, as onscreen Rupert Everett says _Tell him you love him_. _Bite the bullet._

They pause the movie so Donna can get more popcorn. Donna brings up Mike as when she’s in the kitchen and Nell, kneeling in front of the DVD player, ready to hit play, exclaims, “Oh, Mike Ross!”

“Yes, Mike Ross,” Donna says meaningfully, returning to the living room. Nell unpauses the movie. 

“What does that mean?” Harvey bridles.

“Shh,” Donna hisses, elbowing him. The three of them fall silent just as Julia Roberts says, _Michael, I love you_ , and Harvey starts.

“What—”

Donna shushes him again. _I really have this gigantic favour to ask you_ , Julia Roberts pleads. _Choose me. Love me. Let me make you happy. Oh, that sounds like three favours, doesn’t it?_

Nell sniffles. Donna leans over to kiss her hair, patting her knee, and Harvey takes the moment to collect himself.

“I — really?” He says to Donna.

Donna shrugs. “Well, you weren’t listening to me.” Which. Fair play, Harvey thinks.

—

Mike doesn’t let him get a word in the next morning. Harvey’s sitting at his desk, staring into space, a flurry of feeling in his chest, when Mike walks in and slaps a folder down in front of him.

“What’s this?” Harvey starts to ask, but Mike is already talking.

“Have you ever heard of Aberdeen Solutions?”

“I—”

“Of course you haven’t. Nobody has. I called them and it’s an automated answering system.”

Mike looks terribly pleased with himself. “Because — they don’t exist?” Harvey prompts.

“Right! I mean, I guessed that. Or something like that, anyway — it was fishy, so I went fishing. They’re stealing from us, Harvey.”

“Aberdeen Solutions?”

“What? No. I mean, yes, but they work for Dreibach Accounting. I mean, _work_ ,” Mike amends, adding air quotes. “Management services. What does that even mean? I mean, obviously, it means nothing, because it’s not real, but still. They’re embezzling millions of dollars, they could come up with a better lie.” Mike shakes his head as if to clear it. “Anyway, I did some digging—”

“Why?” Harvey asks. “ _How?_ ”

Mike seems to get his wires crossed between the questions, and blusters. “Mike,” Harvey says. “Sit down. Start from the beginning.”

Mike sits, practically vibrating out of his skin. Harvey makes a mental note to tell Donna to cut him off from the Red Bull stash in the associates’ break room. “Look, okay — I was showing Stan out yesterday and he said he was confused that Tori would just fire him out of the blue, because she’s met Kevin. She went to their engagement party. That firm dinner he took Kevin to last month was a fundraiser for the Stonewall Foundation. I know shitty people do not-shitty things to make other people think they’re actually not shitty, but Stan and Kevin have been together five years. Why would she wait that long to fire him?”

He pauses, and Harvey nods for him to continue.

“So I did some research. Turns out, Stan wasn’t the only one fighting a wrongful termination — there was a lawsuit against Dreibach by a plaintiff named Paula O’Neill. Aberdeen was listed as one of the accused.”

Harvey frowns. “How’d you find out about that?”

“You remember Monty? That research intern you tried to fire for spilling coffee on me? Their uncle is a judge. We dropped by night court, paid him a visit. They’re very close, you know.” Mike grins at him. “You know why Monty helped me? I _cared_ about them.”

“Your compassion is a weakness your enemies will not share,” Harvey intones.

“You know, if you’re Ducard, that makes _me_ Bruce Wayne,” Mike says, and goes back to talking at sixty miles an hour before Harvey can argue. “Tori didn’t fire Stan because she’s homophobic. She fired him because he was catching onto her: she has a bunch of shelf companies — like Aberdeen Solutions — and she’s using them to finance her house in the Bahamas.” Mike smirks. “Among other things.”

Harvey imagines, for a moment, with perfect clarity, pulling Mike over his desk by the tie and kissing him stupid. Then he says, “Get Stan Jacobson on the phone,” and watches Mike smile like he’s won something.

—

As soon as Harvey finds out about Clifford Danner, all he wants to do is see Mike.

He’d gone to Jessica to sort out the shit with Cameron, and Jessica said she’d handle it, and she did. She always does.

Harvey sits quiet in his office, looking down at Clifford Danner’s rap sheet. “Harvey?” Jessica says, touching his shoulder.

Harvey gets up. “I love you, Jessica,” he says, out loud for the first time; her lips part, eyebrows knitted together.

“Harvey,” she says, touching his cheek. He leans into it. They’ve never made a big show of it, either of them, but they understand each other.

When he tells her about Clifford Danner, she doesn’t say anything except, “You better goddamn win.”

Harvey nods, a silent promise.

He’s had Mike’s address since he joined the firm, and recites it to the cabbie as he’s sliding into the backseat. The ride feels hours-long; finally, finally, they’re in Brooklyn, Williamsburg, outside Mike’s shitty walkup. Harvey overpays the driver and doesn’t realise he’s left his jacket and vest at the office until he’s sweating through his shirt climbing up to Mike’s apartment.

He loosens his tie, exhaling, and knocks. There’s no answer.

Harvey knocks again, rattles the knob. The door swings open.

Of fucking _course_ Mike Ross leaves his door unlocked. Cautiously, Harvey pushes it open; all the lights are off, but sunlight is streaming in through the windows in great golden slices. There are shawls everywhere, Persian, a faded green couch and a coffee table with three candles on it, each at different stages of melted. It’s tidier than Harvey would have expected, but cluttered: small potted plants, various figurines, more candles, a bookshelf full to bursting. White ceramic tiles tacked to the walls, hand-painted bright and dinky, fruit and flowers and several fat frogs. Between them, rows of photographs clipped to string like bunting. The apartment smells faintly of oranges. It’s not what Harvey expected of Mike’s home, but somehow, it suits him.

Harvey should leave; nobody’s home. But he doesn’t want to leave Mike’s apartment unlocked, and there’s no key under the mat, so he kicks off his shoes and sinks into the worn-out couch. It’s old, overstuffed, and engulfs him like a hug. Harvey fights the urge to curl up into it like a housecat and watches dust motes swirl in the sunlight.

He’s been sitting there for maybe half an hour when a fifteen-year-old girl throws open the door and announces, “I FUCKING HATE KYLE.”

“You kiss your mother with that mouth?” Harvey says, knee-jerk.

“Oh, fuck you,” she retorts, dropping her keys in a bowl by the door, then turns and freezes at the sight of him. “You’re not Mike.”

“Neither are you,” Harvey says.

“You’re Harvey Specter,” says the girl. She seems remarkably unbothered by the fact that she’s come home to a stranger on her couch. “Mike’s boss.”

“You’re…Annie,” Harvey realises. She’s the girl from the photograph, the one in Mike’s cubicle — tawny skin, dark hair falling around her shoulders.

“Ananya,” the girl snaps. She looks cagey, all of a sudden, guarded. “Why are you here?”

Harvey really wants to be the one asking the questions, but he did a little bit break into Mike’s apartment. “I just want to talk to him.”

She watches him, wary. Her eyes are large, coffee-coloured. “Is he in trouble?”

“Not that I’m aware of.” Harvey frowns. “ _Is_ he in trouble?”

Ananya shakes her head. “Not that _I’m_ aware of.” She studies him for a moment more, and nods once, as if having made a decision. “Okay,” she says, “well, you’re welcome to stay for dinner,” and wanders down the hall.

Harvey blinks after her, stunned.

—

Ananya comes back wearing white cotton shorts and a faded Star Wars t shirt, far too big for her. She seems surprised to see Harvey sitting exactly where she left him, and freezes for a second.

“Would you like some tea?”

Harvey doesn’t, but it seems rude to refuse. She disappears into the kitchen and returns with two mugs, brimming with something pink and fruity-smelling. Harvey takes a sip; it tastes like raspberries.

Harvey desperately wants to say, _Who the fuck_ are _you?_ but, in an unprecedented turn of events, finds himself at a loss for words. Ananya’s the one to eventually break the silence.

“Mike didn’t tell you about me, did he?”

Harvey shakes his head. He hasn’t, not explicitly; Mike has only ever mentioned her accidentally, and never elaborated, and Harvey had just assumed —

Ananya smiles faintly, and he’s suddenly aware of how _young_ she is.

“I really hope you’re not his girlfriend.”

Ananya wrinkles her nose prettily. “God, no,” she chokes. “I’m his daughter.”

—

Harvey does not often find himself speechless, and twice in one day is definitely excessive. Ananya puts down her tea, contemplating something, and then lets out a long breath as if to steel herself. “Did Mike ever tell you about his parents?”

Harvey nods.

She smiles, bittersweet. “Mike wanted so badly to be in that car with them. He was eleven. Didn’t think it was fair that his parents let his sister go and not him.”

Harvey’s breath sticks in his throat. “I didn’t know Mike had a sister.”

The smile droops. “He never talks about her. She was older than him, ten years, but they were so close, you wouldn’t have been able to tell. He worshipped her. She was a doctor. Met a man in medical school, married young. Had a baby. Just like her parents.” Annie’s jaw works; she’s gritting her teeth against tears, blinking rapidly. Harvey has been there. “On paper, I’m Mike’s daughter, but really I’m his niece. My father is Indian, hence — ” She gestures at herself all-encompassingly, mouth quirking up at the corner. “He wasn’t on that trip.” She snorts a little. “He was in law school, actually. Decided he wanted to be a medico-legal investigator, took a year of classes. Couldn’t get time off. My mom had a couple weeks before her residency started, wanted me to meet my grandparents, my Uncle Mike. She was going to be a paediatrician. Everyone was so proud of her.” Annie shrugs, sitting up suddenly. “You know the rest. Drunk driver, dead on impact, two little orphans.”

She’s holding herself so stiffly, jaw set, like she’s expecting Harvey to laugh at her. Harvey tries to say something, anything. “I should get started on dinner,” she says briskly, and heads for the kitchen.

Harvey goes after her. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

She starts a little at the sound of his voice, wipes her eyes quickly. “I don’t think—” She stops herself, and slowly, the tension drains out of her shoulders. “Um, do you know how to dice?”

—

For a while, they work in silence: Harvey dicing onions, Annie peeling garlic cloves, crushing them with the flat of her knife. It make’s Harvey’s skin crawl, this caricature of domesticity, everything hanging so heavy in the air between them. He’s in Mike’s kitchen making dinner with Mike’s daughter. Mike’s daughter. Everything in the world slows down and speeds up at once. It makes sense, now, the secrecy, the guardedness; all those phone calls, homemade lunches, Sundays off. _What’s more important than the case?_ Harvey had asked him, Mike’s first week at the firm. 

“Oh, fuck.”

Annie drops her knife with a clatter. “Are you okay? Did you cut yourself?”

“Fine,” Harvey says, shaking his head. The onions are making his eyes water. “When you came in, and I said—”

Annie’s mouth twitches. “Yep.”

“—and you said—”

“Yep.”

“—because—”

“My mother’s been dead fifteen years.”

“God—” Harvey starts to say her name, catches himself in time. “Ananya. I’m so sorry.”

She shakes her head. “I thought you were Mike. We joke like that sometimes, but today, I—” She shakes her head again. “Really, Mr Specter, it’s fine.”

“Harvey,” Harvey says. “You should call me Harvey.”

Ananya had gone back to mincing garlic, and stops when he speaks. Slowly, she starts up again. Without looking up from her chopping board, she says, “Then I guess you should call me Annie.”

Oddly, Harvey wants to thank her; she says it flat, offhand, but it feels monumental. “Where is Mike, anyway?”

Annie scrapes her freshly-minced garlic to the side of her chopping board and gets started on a tomato. “Probably picking up the cake.” When Harvey frowns, she says, “It’s my birthday,” the same way one might say, _Nice weather we’re having_.

Harvey can hardly breathe. “Should I — I should go.”

“No you shouldn’t,” Ananya says. “Who’s going to dice my onions?”

—

Annie takes over the onions after the third time she catches Harvey screwing his eyes shut, and they don’t seem to bother her at all. “Contact lenses,” she explains, when she catches Harvey looking. “Usually I wear glasses when I cook, but you know. Special occasion.”

“What are we making?” Harvey asks.

Annie has to think about it. “Spaghetti marinara, I guess. We just call it red sauce. It’s a birthday tradition.”

Harvey sautés the onions and garlic, because he doesn’t want Annie standing that close to the heat with her contacts in. He’s never needed them, but Donna used to, before she got Lasik, and he’s heard enough horror stories. Annie smirks at him, but doesn’t protest. It’s a gas stove, and she lights it with a match. Harvey takes off his tie so he doesn’t set himself on fire.

Harvey notices, as he rinses his knife, that there’s a painting hung above the kitchen sink. On closer inspection, he realises it’s needlework: a giant panda eating bamboo.

“Grammy gave it to us,” Annie says. She drops a handful of spaghetti into a saucepan, smiling a little, nostalgic. “Housewarming gift.” Mostly to herself, she adds, “I felt like putting a bullet between the eyes of every panda that wouldn’t screw to save its species.”

Harvey looks at her. “You’re too young for _Fight Club_.”

Annie pulls a face at him. “I’m sixteen. Well. Seventeen, now.”

“That’s too young for _Fight Club_.”

“You’re too old, fat man,” Annie says, startling a laugh out of him. After a minute, she says, softly, “Gram said the same thing. But she knew I loved it. I was surprised she even remembered that line, and she said, _Annie, that’s the_ only _line I remember_.”

Harvey laughs again. He likes her, Mike’s kid.

“Grammy never liked me watching television with Mike,” Annie continues, unprompted. “She knew he would wind up showing me some bullshit. She took us in after the accident, but it was hard on her; got a job at a diner, waitressing, even though it was hell on her knees. Mike’s parents left us some money, but she used it to put us through school, and to buy Mike his books.”

“He likes to read,” Harvey remembers.

“He always has. We had to sell a bunch of them when Grammy got sick. I hated it, but Mike said we didn’t need them, because he had a whole library in his head, anyway.”

“That sounds like him.” It does. It’s so much like Mike, to be an orphan taking in an orphan.

Annie smiles fondly. “He used to read to me — recite, I guess — every night ’til I was eight. He did voices and everything. Then he went off to Harvard, and…” Annie’s lips twist. “Anyway, when he came back, he was working two jobs: bike messenger, and then at night he delivered pizza for some fancy Italian place. No time to do voices. I cried, a lot; slept in Grammy’s bed every night for months. Then he started bringing home DVDs at the end of every month, waking me up in the middle of the night so we could watch grownup movies and eat leftover garlic bread and rich people pizza.” She blinks, apparently back in the present. “The first thing we ever watched together was _Fight Club_. I let him sell the books, but not the DVDs. When I got a little older, he started bringing home records, as well. Said one of us needed to be cultured, at least.”

“You have a record player?” Harvey has noted Mike’s fascination with his shelves of records, his turntable, but he’d put it down to Mike’s general fascination with every new thing.

“Yeah.” Annie grins like she knows the next thing out of her mouth is going to appall him, and she’s right: “We got it off e-bay.”

“That is — I don’t even —”

“Don’t stomp your little Prada shoes at me, honey.” She frowns at his expression. “You’ve never seen _Legally Blonde_?”

“You bought a record player off e-bay,” Harvey points out.

Annie rolls her eyes good-naturedly. “I know you’re some slick, alpha lawyer man that spends my month’s rent on neckties and drives Swedish sports cars and hits on all your waitstaff, and you only listen to, like, smooth jazz and ’70s R&B, and you listen to it on vinyl because you can afford the original records and you think that’s the only way music is worth listening to, but — we are poor. Mike and I, we grew up poor, and we never got the chance to grow out of it — I thought we would, when he went off to Harvard, but Grammy got sick, and we couldn’t afford anymore loans. I had an inheritance, but he wouldn’t touch it except to pay for school when Grammy couldn’t anymore. We worked odd jobs as soon as we were old enough — before that, even. When I was fourteen, I put on Grammy’s old heels and some lip gloss I got in a magazine and told everywhere that was hiring that I was sixteen, and washed dishes at a dive bar for six months. I babysat, dogsat, delivered groceries for the old woman who used to live next door. When I turned sixteen for real, I started working after school as a barista, and Saturdays at a bookstore; Mike quit delivering pizzas when Gram went into care so he could be my guardian full-time, but he still delivered packages, tutored high-schoolers. Twice, he took money to write the LSATs for someone else, just so we could keep the lights on. He only stopped because I begged him to. I was so worried he’d get caught; he was all I had. He’s all I have. Careful, you’re burning my red sauce.”

Harvey looks down at the stove to find the sauce bubbling madly in its skillet; hurriedly, he turns down the heat. Annie, draining spaghetti at the sink, smiles a little.

“I know you hate sob stories — Mike told me — but that isn’t what this is. We’re happy. But we’re poor. I know a junior associate’s salary is nothing to sneeze at, but he’s still just a junior associate. There’s rent, utilities, Gram’s medical bills, _my_ medical bills, because Pearson Hardman comes with benefits, but I’ve never had health insurance in my life. Student loans, even though Mike only went to Harvard for a year. Years of debt. All those stupid suits and shiny shoes and dumb, designer status symbols Mike needs to keep his job as a junior associate in the first place. He is all I have, and all _we_ have are Sundays — a new record, or a DVD, an album that I love or he knows I’ll love, a movie neither of us have seen. Vinyl isn’t about class, or exclusivity — I have listened to Duke Ellington and Etta James and Nina Simone and Charles Bradley a thousand times, and I have listened to Mozart and Tchaikovsky and Debussy and Chopin a thousand times, and I can listen to them whenever I want with my shitty headphones and a decent signal. Vinyl is about sound — it’s the cleanest, the crispest, the gold standard. Vinyl is for the music in your heart. There is nothing holier than dancing to ABBA in the living room barefoot on a Sunday afternoon.”

“That’s a very roundabout way of calling me a snob,” Harvey says.

Annie laughs. “Sorry. I mean, I’m not, I just — get carried away, sometimes. I love everything that makes up culture — music, literature, film, food, art, theatre — these were borne of the human condition, but the human condition is only poetic if you’re one of the elite.” She pauses. “We are members of the human race, and the human race is filled with passion. So medicine, law, business, engineering — these are noble pursuits, and necessary to sustain life. But poetry, beauty, romance, love — these are what we stay alive for.”

“That’s not _Fight Club_ ,” Harvey remarks.

She laughs again. “It’s _Dead Poets Society_. Books are Mike's thing, movies are mine.”

She’s so goddamn articulate, for a seventeen-year-old, and sharp as hell — more than Harvey had been, at seventeen. It should come as no surprise — she’s Mike’s kid. She has the same glint in her eye, the same verve in her voice as Mike does when he talks about the law. The same premature world-weariness of a kid who grew up too fast and never had the time to regret it.

He tries to discern some family resemblance; similar noses, the same almost-cleft chin. Annie’s mouth is fuller, her Cupid’s bow dramatic, and her face is heart-shaped, cheekbones high.

“What?” Annie asks. Harvey realises he’s probably staring.

“I’m trying to figure out whether you’re the reason Mike’s such a man of the people, or if it’s the other way around,” Harvey says.

Annie laughs. “I always gagged on the silver spoon.”

“You are definitely too young for _Citizen Kane_.”

Annie opens her mouth, presumably to argue, or quote some more _Citizen Kane_ at him, but she’s cut off by the sound of the front door slamming open and Mike’s voice proclaiming, “I FUCKING HATE KYLE.”

“Is that a thing around here?” Harvey asks, disconcerted.

Annie shakes her head as if to say, _Long story_ , and calls, “In the kitchen!”

Harvey hears Mike puttering around in the living room, the jangling of his keys, the thud of his bag being dropped on the floor. “God, Annie, I’m so fucking sorry, I had to talk to Rachel about the LSATs and then the cake place di—”

“That’s okay,” Annie says cheerfully, as Mike attempts to pick his jaw up off the floor, “Harvey’s been helping.”

—

“Harvey has, has he?” Mike manages eventually. “Harvey’s been helping. Harvey Specter. In my kitchen. I’m going to sit down.” He stumbles off into the living room, mumbling to himself.

“He’ll be fine,” Annie assures. Harvey thinks about everything she said, about _He’s all I have_.

“Where’s your dad?” He asks.

“In the living room,” she replies, chin in the air, defiant. “I should probably go make sure he isn’t broken.”

That leaves Harvey in the kitchen, in Mike’s kitchen, having just made dinner with Mike’s daughter. Mike’s daughter. He feels like he’s floating somewhere outside of his own body. When Mike had gatecrashed an interview with a briefcase full of contraband, he’d had a kid waiting for him at home. When Mike had wound up in the hospital, he’d had a kid waiting for him at home. All those nights he worked until the firm was empty but for him, those nights he never left the firm at all, that time he’d come to work in the middle of his day off just because he thought Harvey needed him. That time Harvey talked him into lying on his resume, and Jessica had found them out, and then Harvey hadn’t said anything because he wanted to keep Mike to himself for as long as he could — Mike had had a kid waiting for him at home.

 _He’s all I have_ , Annie said, over and over. _He’s all I have_.

“I’m gonna set the table.” Annie’s voice breaks him out of his reverie. She’s standing in the kitchen doorway. “You should —” She jerks her head towards the living room.

“Right,” Harvey says hoarsely, “yeah.”

Mike is sitting on the couch in stony silence when Harvey approaches him. “Fancy seeing you here,” he tries to joke. Mike doesn’t laugh.

Harvey thinks he might hit him. But then, after a moment, he says, “You come into my house, on the day of my daughter’s birthday…” and Harvey knows they’re okay. They’ll be okay.

“Mike,” Harvey says, tries not to hold his breath, “I have to tell you something.”

“So do I,” Mike huffs, and waves at the apartment at large. “But I guess that cat’s out of the bag.”

“Mike, Jessica knows.”

Mike’s are almost comically wide. “What did she say? Am I fired? Are you fired?”

Harvey shakes his head, puts a hand on Mike’s knee to calm him. Mike stares down at the hand, and then back at him. “Nobody’s fired. It’s not—”

“Fuck,” Mike bites out. He looks — angry, angry like Harvey’s never seen. “ _Fuck_. We should have just told her. We were supposed to tell her.”

“Mike—”

“No,” Mike snaps. “Don’t try to close me, Harvey. Not on this. So she fucking knows. Now what? We already made it seem like I went to Harvard Law, like I got a degree, every client I ever met thinks I did, and now it looks like I’ve been lying to everyone on purpose.”

“Jessica didn’t know.”

“Who the fuck is going to buy that? _Jessica Pearson_ didn’t know? If she didn’t know, why didn’t I get fired as soon as she found out?”

“I told her if she fired you she would be firing me.”

“What?”

“I told her,” Harvey repeats, feeling like he’s been cleaved open, “that if you didn’t stay, I wouldn’t, either.”

“God, Harvey,” Mike says, like he’s choking on it, and drops his face into his hands. He takes a deep, fortifying breath, lets it out again. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Okay, so she knows. I still have a job. No more lies.”

Harvey nods, a little dazed at the fastest progression through the five stages he’s ever seen. “Okay.”

“Okay,” Mike nods back, and then stands up.

Harvey does, too. “I will leave you now, because I know that you are busy on this day, the day of your daughter’s birthday.”

Mike laughs, shaking his head. “Jesus Christ, you are a piece of work, Harvey. Stay.” He looks at him. “She wants you to stay.”

“Mike…”

“Stay. Only don’t tell me that you’re innocent. Because it insults my intelligence and it makes me very angry.”

“Red sauce time!” Annie announces, unerringly opportune, arms piled high with dinnerware.

So Harvey stays.

They’ll be okay.

—

Watching Annie and Mike talk to each other is like finding yourself inside a sitcom.

“So where do you go to learn about the culture?” Harvey asks her, sitting at the rickety dining table. It’s really only built for two people, and everyone’s knees keep knocking.

Annie looks up at him quizzically.

“Oh, god,” Mike says, “did she give you that speech? With the John Keating?”

“It’s not a _speech_ ,” Annie huffs indignantly, “it’s an enlightened and legitimate point of view.”

“You know she’s a socialist,” Mike tells him, shaking his head in faux-disappointment. “I can’t believe I raised a socialist.”

“You raised a decent human being. No small feat, considering what I have for a role model.”

“I should have dropped you in the Hudson when I had the chance.”

“Bite your tongue!”

It’s like Harvey’s not even there. He feels raw, like an exposed nerve. Thinks about calling Marcus.

“If you mean school,” Annie says, turning back to him, “Fiorello H LaGuardia.”

God, no wonder. One of Donna’s nephews had applied to LaGuardia his junior year, Harvey remembers. Wanted to be jazz musician; that’s why Donna had mentioned it. “The music school?”

“Performing arts.” She indicates herself with her fork. “Theatre.”

“Gonna be an actress?”

“Annie’s far too practical for that,” Mike says gravely, “she’s going to be an _English major_.”

“Nyeh nyeh nyeh nyeh-lish nyeh nyeh,” Annie retorts, pitching her voice high and nasally. “As opposed to your especially practical, superior major? Oh, wait.”

“Ha, ha,” Mike scoffs. “Get a new line.”

“Get a degree.”

Harvey snorts. Annie grins, victorious.

“Where do you want to go?” He knows people at Harvard, of course, and Stanford, people he could talk to. Jessica knows the Dean of Columbia, and Donna’s got connections everywhere — Berkeley, Princeton, Brown…

Annie, apparently not a heathen unlike her father, swallows her mouthful before she answers. “NYU.”

“To be an English major?”

She eyes him. “What’s wrong with that?”

“I mean, you could go anywhere,” Harvey tells her. “Not even just here. Oxford, Cambridge.”

“Like I’d get into Oxford.”

“You know you’d get into Oxford.” Harvey can’t understand, and then he catches Mike looking down at his plate, lips pressed together, and he does. She’s Mike’s kid, of course; Mike, who dropped out of Harvard to raise her, who falls on every sword he can get his hands on.

Annie’s quiet for a while, fork hovering over her plate. “I love New York City,” she says finally. “It’s where I belong.”

“Cake?” Mike cuts in, and Harvey remembers it’s her birthday.

“Happy birthday,” he says awkwardly. Annie raises an eyebrow, amused.

“Thanks.”

—

Theres’s cake, and singing, and Annie and Mike smearing frosting on each other’s faces. Harvey watches the whole thing from outside of himself, this bizarre domestic tableau he’s made himself a part of. None of it feels entirely real; he wonders if, once he steps outside the apartment, it’ll crumble into nothing behind him.

Annie loads three slices of cake and some red sauce into Tupperware, and says, very deliberately, “I’m just going to run these to Candy next door.”

Mike kisses the top of her head. Harvey says, “Bye, Annie,” and then it’s just the two of them.

Mike speaks first. “You call her Annie?”

“She said to.”

Mike looks at him like he’s just announced his pregnancy.

“Wait a second,” he says, clearing his throat, and disappears down the hall, returning with a photo album, thick and plasticky.

“Here,” he says, sitting down on the couch. Harvey sits next to him, leans over his shoulder. It’s another one of the photos from Mike’s cubicle, a woman holding a baby, the one he’d assumed was Mike’s mother.

“Annie’s my sister’s kid,” he explains. Harvey nods. He’s heard it all from Annie herself, but he doesn’t interrupt. “When I told you my parents died in a car crash, I didn’t tell you that my sister died with them. I didn’t get it, at the time; Mom and Dad always had date night by themselves, and if she was allowed to go, I should be, too. I was so angry with her. She kept saying _I love you, Mikey, I love you_ , before she left, and I wouldn’t say it back.” The words come easier as he talks; he probably rarely tells this story. “I was the ring bearer in her wedding. Her husband’s name was Viyan. Viyan Shankar. They were living in London together. He flew out for the funeral, and then flew back. I never saw him again. Annie never wanted to.”

He closes the album, looks Harvey in the eye. “My sister’s name was Annie.”

Harvey doesn’t breathe.

“Annabelle, after my mom’s mom. Everyone called her Belle, except family. She thought it made her sound beautiful and mysterious.” He gives Harvey a watery smile. “She was. Beautiful. She wanted to be a doctor, to help people. She wanted Viyan to pick their daughter’s name, so that she would feel connected to her heritage. But little Ananya Shankar couldn’t say her own name, so she called herself Annie, like her mommy.” He shrugs. “Then it stuck. I adopted her when I turned eighteen, changed her name. She’s always been a Ross, anyway.

“Nobody calls her Annie except family,” Mike says, his smile a little more real. “So I guess that puts you in our corner.”

“I’ve always been in your corner,” Harvey says, genuine.

Mike hugs him, sudden and quick. Harvey’s hands touch his shoulder blades and then he’s pulling back, tucking a leg up underneath himself. “Why’d you come here, anyway? Something you couldn’t tell me at work?”

Harvey realises that he hasn’t thought about Clifford Danner all night.

“Harvey?” Mike prods, concerned.

Harvey tells him everything, right from the beginning. His own rarely-told story. He tells him about Cameron Dennis, about the buried evidence, about leaving and taking Donna with him, wiping every trace of his time at the DA’s office from his record. About Clifford Danner, in prison twelve years for a crime he didn’t commit, only because Harvey put him there.

“Shit, Harvey,” Mike breathes. Then, “What did Jessica say?”

“She said I better win."

“Then that’s what we’ll do,” Mike says. “Where do we start?”

—

“Donna, do me a favour and get Mr Sherman on the phone, please? Thank you.”

Donna stalks into the office as Harvey’s sitting down and yanks the door closed behind her.

“What was that?”

“Excuse me?”

“Please, do me a favour, thank you. All in the same sentence. You think I’m not going to notice that?”

“I don’t have time for this.”

“You got time. You’re going to sit right there while I figure out what the hell’s going on.”

“Nothing’s going on,” Harvey says, opening his laptop.

Donna crosses her arms. “Dimple in your tie’s too far to the left — that says that your mind is on something else. Mr Sherman’s called a hundred and thirty-six times, you’ve never called him back, which means you’re feeling guilty, and you’re trying to compensate.”

“I’m not trying—”

“I didn’t say overcompensate.”

“As long as we’re clear.”

Donna narrows her eyes at him. “The only time I’ve ever seen you wear lavender was when your brother was in the hospital. So either your mother showed up, or —” Her mouth goes slack. “You found out about Annie.”

Harvey stares at her. “You knew?”

“I saw a photo of her in his wallet.”

“What, and you just guessed that she was his secret daughter?”

“He told me. You know I would have found out anyway.”

Harvey presses his fingers into his eyes. “Donna,” he says brokenly, “he has a kid.”

“Does she like you?”

Harvey removes his fingers to properly gape at her. “What?”

“Annie. Does she like you?”

“I gatecrashed her birthday dinner, Donna.”

“You gatecrash my birthday every year.”

“Because I pay for it.”

“Harvey.”

“I don’t know,” Harvey half-shouts, throwing his hands up. “She said I could call her Annie, which Mike said is. Something. God, he has a _kid_ , Donna.”

“Who likes you.”

“Hardly.”

“So make her like you.”

“I’m not going to close a seventeen-year-old girl.”

Donna rolls her eyes. “I meant talk to her. Talk to Mike about her. Make an effort. This doesn’t spell the end for you, you know.”

Harvey’s head snaps up. “He—”

“Let me guess,” Donna cuts him off, “can I guess? _He has a kid, Donna_.” Her impression of him is still spectacular. “I know. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, but you will use any excuse to push people away.”

“She’s not an excuse!” Harvey is shouting properly now, belatedly glad that Donna had the foresight to close the door. “She’s a child. She is his _child_.”

“And you think he didn’t tell you because he doesn’t trust you, and you want him to trust you because you _like_ him, Harvey, and you hate yourself for putting him in the line of fire when he has a _kid, Donna_ , and then you’re mad again that he didn’t tell you about her because you think he doesn’t trust you, and you want him to trust you.”

Harvey blinks. “I mean. Yeah.”

“He didn’t lie to you, Harvey,” she says, her tone softening. “He just didn’t tell you the whole story. Because he was protecting her.”

“Oh my god, you did that thing,” Harvey says.

“I did.”

“You did that thing where you call me a hypocrite but in, like, metaphor, so that I’m confronted with the consequences of my own actions.”

Donna smirks. “Still works like a charm.”

“What’s up, motherfuckers!” Mike wrenches the door open and heads straight for Harvey’s expansive office windows. “Wow, oh my god, that’s a beautiful day. Ideal for getting an innocent man out of prison, don’t you think?”

So that’s what they do.

—

Mike says, “Mississippi Burning,” and Harvey honest to god gets so turned on.

It works, too, is the thing. If not the first time, then the second.

“This is so many crimes,” Mike mumbles, on his knees in front of Matt Bailey’s door, picking the lock.

“Sometimes the good guys gotta do bad things to make the bad guys pay,” Detective Packel pronounces.

Harvey rolls his eyes so hard they hurt. Mike gets the door open, and, under his breath, mumbles, “You must have your brains in your dick,” so only Harvey can hear him.

Harvey bites the inside of his cheek very hard to keep from laughing and screwing up this entire insane goddamn endeavour.

“Where’d you learn to pick a lock?” Harvey murmurs as Mike brushes past him.

Mike lifts a shoulder, his eyes wide and dark. Harvey’s breath seizes.

“Ready?” Detective Packel asks, pushing between them to perch on the arm of Matt Bailey’s couch.

Mike squares his shoulders. “Ready.”

Harvey should have kissed him, then.

But Mike’s daughter. Mike’s daughter.

—

When he knocks on the door of Mike’s apartment on Sunday afternoon, Annie answers. “You’re not the TV repair guy.”

“Sorry to disappoint.”

She grins and opens the door wider for him.

There’s a half-eaten pizza on the coffee room table, and Sprite cans littering the floor. “Got big plans tonight?” Harvey asks, smirking a little.

“Well, I did,” Annie says, picking up some of the cans. “The TV repair guy was supposed to come by, and that can only end one of two ways.” She ticks them off on her fingers. “Sex, or murder.”

“He fixes the TV and leaves,” Harvey says, sticking out a finger of his own.

Annie pulls a face at him. “Party pooper.” She gestures for Harvey to sit, and flops down next to him. “Mike’s on a grocery run, but he should be back in a bit.”

“Actually, I’m here to see you.”

Annie stills. “Why…?”

“I wanted to apologise for crashing your birthday party.”

Annie relaxes, snorting quietly. “Hardly a party.”

“Still.” He holds out the package he’d picked up that afternoon. Annie takes, unwrapping it slowly, like she thinks it might bite her.

“Holy shit.”

Harvey wonders, suddenly, if this was a terrible idea. “You mentioned—”

“No, I know,” Annie breathes, looking down at the record in her hands. “I can’t believe you remembered.”

“Dancing Queen,” Harvey explains, “because you’re—”

“Seventeen. Yeah.” Annie nods, keeps nodding, like a bobblehead on a car dashboard. “Can I hug you?”

“I — yes,” Harvey fumbles. Annie places the record down next to her very carefully, and then throws her arms around his neck. Hesitantly, he places his hands on her back, and she squeezes.

“Thank you,” she whispers thickly into his ear. Then she sits back, reaching under the coffee table to drag out the infamous e-bay record player, shoving the pizza aside to make room. The record crackles, and then Annie starts to hum with the music, trembling almost imperceptibly. _Vinyl is for the music in your heart_.

Harvey stands up, startling her a little. “May I?” He asks, offering her a hand. Annie takes it, bewildered, squeals when drags her out to an empty space on the floor and spins her.

“What,” she squawks, stumbling a little, but puts her free hand on his shoulder, corrects her footing.

“A very wise woman once told me that there is nothing holier than dancing to ABBA barefoot in the living room on a Sunday afternoon,” Harvey says solemnly.

Annie hums thoughtfully. “She sounds as smart as she is beautiful.”

Annie’s smiling; it changes her whole face, lights her up inside out. She steps on his toes, curses, giggles as he swings her out and pulls her back in. _With a bit of rock music, everything is fine…_

It should feel strange, Harvey thinks. Awkward, and wrong. Not quite so natural, like they’ve known each other for years, like they are both home. Mike’s daughter. Mike’s daughter.

_Young and sweet, only seventeen…_

Eventually, the TV repair guy does show up, and Annie lifts the needle so she can explain the problem, and pay him. With the music gone, Harvey’s aware, acutely, of where he is and what he’s doing.

“I should go,” he says shortly. Annie frowns, but nods. Her goodbye is a little subdued. Harvey doesn’t offer one back.

—

“I didn’t lie to you.”

Jessica looks up from where she’s sitting on her office couch, reviewing some contract or another. “You’d better not have.”

“I just didn’t tell you the whole story.”

Jessica puts down her pen and papers, laces her fingers over her knee to properly inspect him. “This is about the kid.”

“And his kid.”

At this, she raises one perfectly-manicured eyebrow, as close to outright shock as Jessica Pearson ever gets. “He told you about the kid."

“Sort of. I met her.”

“You met her.” It doesn’t sound like a question, but it rarely does, with Jessica.

Harvey nods, and when she doesn’t say anything, sits down in one of the stupidly luxurious armchairs opposite her. “I didn’t know about her when I hired him.”

“Like you didn’t know about Harvard?” A real question, this time. It would be scathing, but Jessica doesn’t do scathing unless it’s dire.

“I was trying to protect him.”

“Bull _shit_ you were trying to protect him, Harvey,” and okay, there it is. “You hired that kid to amuse yourself.”

“Maybe, at first. But he’s good at his job — better than I thought. And if he didn’t fit the requirements for our extra-valuable _cachet_ —” Harvey sucks in a breath. “He deserves this job more than any of those stuck-up Harvard clones, and I didn’t want to be the reason he lost it. Jessica, I — I —”

“You look at him like he hung the goddamn moon. Do you take me for an idiot, Harvey?”

Harvey blinks. “No. You are above average in intelligence. And for a lawyer, top-tier.”

“I know you think you’re slick, but you forget who taught you all your best moves. I have always seen right through you. When you offered to walk away for that kid, you meant it.” She lets him stew for a moment, and then says, measured, “As far as I’m concerned, Mike Ross works for Pearson Hardman in the capacity of a consultant. I put him in the associate programme because I thought he could use the experience, and because I thought you could learn something from being a mentor. I didn’t tell anyone he didn’t go to Harvard because he deserved an even playing field, and if anyone bothered to look him up in the alumni directory, they would see he wasn’t there, and he was free to tell them the truth at any time. I’ll send you his amended employment contract at the end of the day.” She quirks an eyebrow. “I’ll be sure to leave out the date.”

Harvey breathes freely for the first time since setting foot in her office. “Thank you.”

“Make no mistake, Harvey,” she says, low, “Mike Ross is a consultant for the firm, which means he works for me. He’s your associate because I decided that is where his talents are best applied. And I’ve said before that he is an asset to us, and if that asset were to _leave_ —”

“I wouldn’t,” Harvey cuts her off. “Jessica, I would never.”

She gives him the smallest of smiles. “You know that the bylaws forbid fraternisation between ranks. But as a consultant, Mike Ross would be exempt to that particular clause.” She smiles wider at the look on his face. “I’m not telling you what to do, Harvey. I’m only telling you not to fuck it up.”

—

Harvey sits opposite Jessica, tongue-tied, for several minutes (though later, when asked, he’d claim to be thinking carefully) before Donna walks in.

“Duty calls,” Jessica says, nodding at her.

Donna steps further into the office, her pale face rousing Harvey from his stupor. “Actually, you’ll both want to hear this.” She hands Jessica a piece of paper.

Jessica skims it, and then looks at Harvey, lips pursed. “Alicia Hardman is dead.”

“What?” He looks at Donna. “When?”

“Last night.”

“Hardman’s coming back.”

“You don’t know that,” Jessica argues.

“The only reason we were able to get rid of the other half of Pearson Hardman in the first place was by threatening to tell her about his affair.”

“That was the means, not the end. We had a good reason, and you know that.”

“That’s not my point. Alicia’s dead. Our leverage is gone.”

“That doesn’t mean he’s coming back.”

“Jessica.”

She presses her lips together. “There’s an easy way to find out.”

“Then let’s do it.”

She nods.

—

“You know, you and Daniel are cut from the same cloth,” Jessica says, adjusting the weird, wraparound, futuristically-fashionable neck of her trench coat. It’s sunny enough that Harvey can get away with wearing sunglasses, but cold enough to necessitate outerwear, hence his custom black Vicuna overcoat, foisted on him by Rene last winter. They’re standing apart from the rest of the crowd, but close enough to be able to see Alicia Hardman’s casket so as not to be too conspicuous.

Harvey blanched at the idea of dragging his Testoni wingtips through cemetery grass, but Jessica glared him into submission — which, for her, has never been much of an effort. So here they are.

“That’s why I don’t like him,” Harvey says, in response to her comment. “ _There can be only one._ ”

“We’re at a funeral, and you’re quoting _Highlander_?”

“A lot of people die in it,” Harvey posits. He doesn’t have to look at Jessica to know she’s eyeing him.

Daniel approaches them, eventually, and Harvey is pleased to note that his coat isn’t quite as nice as Harvey’s own. “My condolences,” he says, and tries to mean it.

“You must think I hate you both,” Daniel says, shaking his head sadly.

“That might have something to do with the fact that I was listening the last time you spoke to me,” Jessica says mildly.

Daniel grins suddenly. The dimple in his right cheek is exactly as infuriating as Harvey remembers. “I was pissed, wasn’t I?”

“You threw your phone at my head.”

“I did miss, though.”

The rage is familiar, but not any less white-hot. Harvey clenches his fists, focusses on the sting of his nails biting into his palms.

“I reconnected with Alicia,” Daniel is saying, only about _oozing_ piousness. “I cared for her. I know you can’t get back lost time with your family, but you can make up for it. Look at Sarah.” He turns to wave at a dark-haired teenage girl standing a few feet behind them. She waves back. “I never really knew her, and now I do.”

“Last time I saw her she was a little girl,” Jessica says, and if Harvey didn’t know her as well as he does he’d believe the nostalgia in her voice.

“She just graduated high school,” Daniel says. He turns back to them with a proud smile. “Going to Harvard this fall. The truth is, what you did _to_ me was the best thing anyone could have done _for_ me.”

Harvey can’t take it any longer. “That mean you coming back?”

Daniel looks shocked. “It’s my wife’s funeral, Harvey. I haven’t given it any real thought yet.” He looks to Jessica, says, “I am a changed man, Jessica, and I have you to thank for it,” and walks away to stand with his daughter.

“You actually buying that pious bullshit?” Harvey asks as soon as he’s out of earshot.

“Not for a second,” Jessica mutters, adjusting the neck of her trench coat again. “He’s coming for us.”

—

“Hey!” Mike materialises next to him as soon as Harvey steps foot in his office. “How’d it go?”

“Fine,” Harvey dismisses.

“Fine? So he’s not coming back?”

“He said he doesn’t know.”

“You believe him?”

“Mike.” It comes out harsher than he intends. He clears his throat and lowers his voice. “Leave it.”

Mike’s face is contorted with puzzlement. “What is up with you?”

“He has a daughter,” Harvey spits out, lets it settle in the air between them. “He has a teenage daughter whose mother just died, and now I have to figure out how to steamroll her father without telling her that he’s a cheating bastard.”

“Harvey.” Mike’s hand is on his back, between his shoulder blades. The heat of it is muffled by all the layers Harvey is still wearing. “Harvey, I’m not made of glass.”

Harvey shrugs off the hand under the pretext of shucking his overcoat. “I know.”

“Do you?” Mike is standing right in front of him. His breath smells dimly of coffee. “Don’t try to coddle me on Annie’s behalf. She’ll kick your ass."

That makes him smile. “Okay.” Harvey exhales. “He’s coming back. Hardman.”

Mike nods. “What do you need me to do?”

—

Daniel Hardman fucking comes back.

Mike murmurs, “I thought you said—”

“I know what I said.” And yet.

Hardman gives some stupid, pandering speech in the law library, approaches Harvey and Jessica afterwards. Says something glib, probably; Harvey doesn’t hear it over the roaring of blood in his ears.

Jessica doesn’t bat an eyelid, just stalks into his office and starts giving him orders. Halfway through, Mike wanders in with a plate of fruit and says, “Hardman is awesome,” and Jessica gives Harvey a look that means that Harvey will be _hearing_ about this later _._

“I mean, he, um,” Mike falters under Jessica’s withering stare. “He brought in this omelette bar for the associates, but it’s — no big deal —” His posture slackens once Jessica is gone. “This pineapple was growing on a plantation on Lanai _yesterday_.”

“Do not trust it,” Harvey orders.

Mike pauses with the pineapple halfway to his mouth. “Don’t trust…the pineapple?”

“Hardman,” Harvey says, giving him a look. Mike gives him one back.

“Would you — come on.” He holds out the pineapple on a stick.

“I don’t want it.”

“Are you serious? You’re afraid of the pineapple? I know it’s got a rough exterior but it’s all sweet on the inside, I promise.” He puts on a stupid cartoonish voice, twirling the pineapple in Harvey’s face. “ _Come on, I love you, Harvey_.”

Harvey takes the fucking pineapple just to get him to shut up. Mike watches him take a bite and says, “See?”

“It’s spectacular,” Harvey allows. “But this doesn’t change the fact that this is what he does. He’s coming back, and people are gonna have to choose sides.”

Mike rolls his eyes — he’s learning — and pinches the pineapple back to take a bite, right next to where Harvey’s mouth had been not a second ago. Harvey takes a minute to let his brain short-circuit, and then says, “I need you on Paul Porter.”

Mike frowns. His mouth is pink and shiny from the pineapple. “The bowtie guy?”

“Every case he has — read, summarise, find weaknesses. I want to know everything he knows.”

“What, is he getting fired?”

“Nope. He’s getting lunch.”

—

In the end, Harvey doesn’t have to close Paul Porter, or Louis, or do anything else on Jessica’s list. Hardman comes tearing into her office while Harvey is briefing her on Paul Porter’s client, screaming blue murder, his face so red Harvey wonders if he should be concerned about apoplexy.

“—and I never thought you, Jessica, of all people, would stoop so low—”

“Daniel,” Jessica says, and even with the state Hardman is in, he stops. That’s Jessica, for you. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Several complicated emotions play out on Hardman’s face, and then he turns his stony gaze on Harvey. “She didn’t know. You didn’t tell her.”

“Didn’t tell her what?” Harvey says, not backing away.

Hardman gets in Harvey’s face, jabs a finger at his chest. “Harvey _fucking_ Specter, you think you can get away with this? You goddamn _snake_ , you fucking—”

“Daniel,” Jessica says warningly.

“—Jessica Pearson’s _bitch_ , and that’s all you’ll ever be—”

“Daniel!”

Hardman swings. Harvey isn’t expecting it, takes it straight to the face, and Jessica is jumping between them, and then there’s more shouting from the doorway and it’s Sarah Hardman, wearing a dark leather jacket and too many scarves like she had at the funeral, screaming at her father, Bambi and Donna and Louis and several passersby rushing to find out what the commotion is about. Jessica has Harvey’s wrist in an iron grip, pulling him behind her desk, out of the line of fire. Both Hardmans are still going at it, bloody and raw.

“ _This is your fault_ ,” Sarah Hardman is yelling, her face wet with tears. “You did this to our family, Mom hasn’t been dead _two days_ and you—”

“How did you even find out—”

“—doesn’t matter how I found out, you couldn’t even tell me—”

“—I would have—”

“—the whole time she was dying and you—”

“Enough.” That’s Donna, Donna who has long perfected that Jessica-thing of getting everyone around her to respond instinctively to her voice. She jerks her head at Jessica, who stands, tugging Harvey along behind her, his wrist still firmly in her vice grip. He’s led down the hall and into his own office, where Jessica shoves him down onto the couch and prods at his face so she can properly assess the damage.

“I’m fine,” Harvey grouses, flinching away when she gets a tender spot on his cheekbone.

“He really got you, didn’t he,” Jessica murmurs, still touching his face.

“Flies by the seat of his pants, totally unpredictable,” Harvey quips. She gives him a look, exasperated but fond.

“Jessica,” Harvey says suddenly, “I didn’t tell her. About the affair. I don’t know how she found out, but it wasn’t me.”

Jessica says, “I know,” and Harvey, rebuttal on the tip of his tongue, snaps his mouth shut.

“You do?”

“She does,” says a voice at the door, and both of them turn to it.

“ _Annie?_ ”

Annie winces, holding a finger to her lips. “Mike doesn’t know I’m here.”

“Why not?”

Jessica gets up, proffers a hand. “Jessica Pearson.”

“I know,” Annie says, and winces again. “I mean, um, Ananya Ross. It’s very nice to meet you.” She shakes Jessica’s hand clumsily.

Jessica’s lips give the slightest twitch. “Likewise. It’s good to put a face to the voice.”

“What—” Harvey stops, thinks, _No_. “You didn’t—?”

“I would like to exercise my fifth amendment rights at this time,” Annie says quickly.

Jessica laughs, sudden and bright. “You really are Mike Ross’ kid.” She gives Harvey a look that Harvey recognises to mean _Be good_ , and leaves him and Mike’s daughter, _Mike’s daughter_ , alone in his office together.

“If Daniel Hardman sues, will you represent me?” Annie asks, the first to speak. She’s wearing a leather jacket, Harvey notices, much like Sarah Hardman, and scuffed combat boots.

Harvey laughs, now, shocked, his face still throbbing. “Pro bono, even.”

“Sorry you got punched in the face.”

“That’s not even in the top five things I’m worried about right now,” Harvey says honestly. “Are you saying you had something to do with Sarah Hardman finding out about her father’s affair?”

“And his embezzlement,” Annie says without thinking, and then back-pedals anxiously: “I mean, I’m not saying that, you’re saying that, so then it’s…hearsay.” She says it like a question.

“Close enough,” Harvey says, wondering if maybe this is a fever dream. “How did you even — _why?_ ”

“I told you when I was fourteen I got a job at a dive bar.” Harvey nods, remembering. “Mike never knew about it. After Grammy went into care, it was hard, for a while. We didn’t have much. A lot of the time we didn’t have enough. Mike always told me he wasn’t hungry, or he already ate at work, but I wasn’t as naive as he liked to think. So I took the job, and I told him it was at a cafe, and used the money to buy groceries. My first week at work, I got harassed by a patron. Typical service industry crap. When I told Grammy, she said, _That’s New York City, Annie. The best revenge you can get is to keep on living in it_. She was right, of course. But Mike wanted a name, and a place. I told him no, because I knew what he would do to the guy, and if he got caught he would go to jail, and which is so much worse than some skeeze at work calling me _sugartits_. I didn’t want him to find out out where I really worked, because he would’ve made me quit, and gone back to starving himself.” She fixes him with a hard, challenging stare. “I _hate_ lying, and I’d never lied to Mike before then, but I have to protect my own.”

“When I was thirteen,” Harvey says, “I found out my little brother was being bullied, so I confronted the father. The father was a bully, too, as fathers of bullies often are, and I knew what would happen to the kid, and I did it anyway. And I never looked back.” He meets her eye. “I protect my own, too.”

—

After the abrupt and frankly absurd departure of Daniel Hardman, everything is strange and tense. Everybody falls silent whenever Harvey walks by, wearing the bruise on his cheek like a badge of honour. Mike is sullen and waspish, and won’t look him in the eye.

“Annie told you,” Harvey deduces.

Mike’s head jerks up so fast Harvey worries he’ll give himself whiplash. “Annie told _you_?”

“After Sarah Hardman showed up. She came to my office. She didn’t confirm anything, but she didn’t deny anything, either.”

“That fucking kid,” Mike says, not angry so much as exhausted. “Jesus Christ.”

“Did she give you details?”

Mike shakes his head, exhaling roughly. “Not exactly. She tracked down Sarah Hardman online, got her talking about her parents, let slip about the affair — some soap opera bullshit. I can’t believe she pulled it off. I can’t believe it _worked_.”

“Annie deus ex machina,” Harvey says wryly.

Mike pushes out another shaky breath. “I fucking guess.”

—

Harvey doesn’t see Annie at the firm until weeks later, and then she there is, wearing those same combat boots. She’s at Donna’s desk, trembling from head to toe; Harvey opens the door just in time to hear Donna say, “Oh, god, baby, come here,” and Annie collapses into her arms, sobbing wrecked and violent.

Annie says something, garbled, into Donna’s dress, and Donna says, “Let’s get you out of here,” half-carries her to the elevators. Harvey tries to call her name, but Donna looks over her shoulder and shakes her head sharply. People are staring, but they disperse as soon as Harvey turns on them.

Mike, something has happened to Mike. But Harvey just spoke to him; he’d left early to go see his grandmother, and oh, god, his _grandmother_.

Harvey stares, unseeing, at his shelves of records. An hour, maybe, or more. Time is slow and thick, like molasses.

Mike’s grandmother. And his daughter. Mike’s daughter.

—

But Mike is back at work the next day. He nods Harvey good morning, and then heads straight for the file room, or so Donna reports.

“How—”

Donna shakes her head.

Harvey sighs. “The kid?”

Donna presses her lips together. “At my place. With Nell.” Off Harvey’s look, she says, “He didn’t want her holed up in that apartment by herself.”

“Doesn’t she have school?”

“It’s summer, Harvey,” Donna says, like that’s something he should know.

Mike, shock horror, is actually at his cubicle when Harvey goes to look. He has his headphones in, hunched over, speed-reading several files at once. Harvey grabs a pen off the nearest desk and saunters over, uses it to flick an earbud out of Mike’s ear. Mike startles; Harvey hears something intense and bass-heavy emanating faintly from his headphones.

“You look overwhelmed,” Harvey comments. “Let me help.” He drops another case file on the steadily-mounting pile on Mike’s desk. The framed photo of his grandmother is facedown by his keyboard.

“Louis said I’m not allowed to prioritise your work anymore.”

“Since when do I take orders from Louis?”

Mike doesn’t answer.

“Don’t pout, you’re gonna love this case. It’s very detail-oriented.”

“And what are you doing?”

“I’m giving you work. And then you’re gonna do it.”

“Right, I forgot that’s how things work with us.” Mike drops his highlighter abruptly, yanks out his other earbud. “I know that your life is this case — and this case — and this case —” he tosses each file to the floor as he says it “— but mine isn’t, okay? I live in the real world, where sometimes bad things happen, and you lose. Sometimes you lose, and there isn’t anything that any of us, including the great and powerful Harvey Specter, can do about it!”

Mike is on his feet, shouting; slowly, he seems to come back to himself, looks around the arrested bullpen with his face flushing red in splotches.

“Go home,” Harvey says evenly. “Now.”

—

Mike takes his orders very seriously.

“Donna.” Donna looks at him from where she’s sitting at his office conference table, legal hodgepodge spread out in front of her. Mike would have it on the floor, sleeves rolled up, lip between his teeth, and Harvey stops that train of thought _right_ now. “I need the employment survey.”

“Yeah, I’m working on it.”

“It’s not done?”

Donna puts her pen down. “It’s a survey of all fifty states.”

“You gotta get on this! Mike could have done it in his sleep!”

“I’m sorry I don’t have a photographic memory, but my brain is already too busy being awesome.”

“Well, what about one of the other associates?”

“Which one?”

“You know.”

“Do I?”

“The blonde one.”

“Oh, of course.”

“Then the brunette.”

“Male? Female?”

Harvey glowers. “Yes.”

“You don’t know a single one of their names, do you?”

“Mike Ross,” Harvey says, just because he can.

“Do I need to remind you that you’re the one that sent him home yesterday?”

Harvey is scared of her enough to be properly chastised. “I thought he would come back.”

“You know you could call him, Harvey.”

“Just get me anyone.”

“Harvey.”

“Donna.”

Donna sighs. “Fine.”

—

Donna gets him _Harold_.

Harvey remembers Harold, from that time he was sobbing on the Pearson Hardman steps over Mike’s hospitalisation, and the time right after that when he got snot all over Harvey’s monogrammed designer handkerchief.

“Um, Mr Specter, sir,” he stammers when he’s called to Harvey’s office, “I just thought that you — you might want —” He thrusts Harvey’s handkerchief towards him, clean and folded. “I also bought you a new one —” he produces an identical handkerchief from his breast pocket “— and also, some different ones, in case — in case your tastes have…altered.” Harvey is now looking at five handkerchiefs, ranging from off-white to dark grey. “Also some tissues,” Harold adds quickly, holding out a small disposable pack of Kleenex. “I couldn’t get them monogrammed, but I — I did write your initials on the packet. So. Um.”

Harvey stares at him. “Very good. Thank you.”

Harold nods far too much and plonks himself down in the chair opposite Harvey, then springs out of it like he’s been scorched. “Um, Mr Specter, sir, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to presume—”

“Sit,” Harvey barks, prompting Harold to drop cross-legged to the floor.

It’s after maybe the nineteenth _Um, Mr Specter, sir_ that Harvey banishes Harold from his office and stomps out to stand before Donna, who looks up at him serenely.

“Fine,” Harvey mutters. “I’ll call him.”

—

Mike answers the door as soon as Harvey knocks.

He looks the same. Harvey doesn’t know why he’s surprised; it’s only been three days.

“When I sent you home, I didn’t meant for you to never come back.”

All of the fight Mike had been brimming with the last time they’d seen each other is gone. He slouches before Harvey and says, heavy, “My grandmother died."

“I know.” Mike’s eyebrows furrow. “Look, you obviously weren’t ready to deal with it, so I respected that by keeping you busy. Was I wrong?”

Slowly, Mike shakes his head. “No.”

Harvey steps closer to him, squints. “Are you stoned?”

“Yep. And I’m not interested in a lecture, so—”

“Good,” Harvey says firmly, walking further into the apartment. “’Cause I’m not interested in giving one.” There are several joints scattered on Mike’s coffee table, as well as a dark blue Bic. He grabs one and lights up.

“Yeah, help yourself,” Mike blinks.

“Don’t mind if I do.” Harvey puffs. “Is this the coffee cart guy?”

Mike stares at him.

—

Off his face. Harvey is off his face. High. Harvey is so high. High off his face.

Mike has his hand in an empty bag of pretzels, raised on his fist like a gauntlet. “The whole bag? How do you even do that, man? I got, like, crazy cotton mouth right now.”

“Harvey Specter doesn’t get cotton mouth,” Harvey tries to say, but finds that he’s still chewing pretzel.

“Cotton mouff?”

“Mouff,” Harvey corrects. That’s not right. It makes him giggle. Mike giggles, too.

“I guess Harvey Specter does get cotton mouff!”

“I can’t help it, these pretzels,” Harvey says, and Mike does that thing where he finishes Harvey’s sentence, and it’s so good. Both of them giggle, again. Harvey’s mouff is so dry. Cottony, even.

“Here, drink this, rookie,” Mike says lazily, passing him a beer. Harvey takes it and drinks until he can’t breathe anymore. He sits down to watch Mike light up, cup the flame with one hand, blunt between his teeth. That is so _good_.

Harvey is about to tell him how good it is when his bottom gets poked by a button. A button. In his bottom. He pulls Mike’s suit jacket out from under himself. Aha! The source of the button in his bottom. “Did you ever hear of a hanger?”

Mike groans, gets off the couch, which is _not_ good, and sits at his rickety old dining table. Then he starts laughing. “I just got an image of you as a dad, with, like, a little Harvey Specter, you know, all hair-gelled, and, like, pinstriped Oshkosh B’gosh.” Harvey cannot find a hanger, or hear of one. He tosses Mike’s jacket at his coat rack and misses. “Oh, god, I’m a terrible dad.”

Mike is not, _not_ a terrible dad, never ever. Harvey wants to tell him this, but there’s a lease on his side table, next to a lamp and a candle and a ceramic owl. “Oh, look at that! You bought an apartment in Manhattan.” The Corinthian. That’s close to Harvey. Close enough. Now _that_ is good.

“It was for her,” Mike says, suddenly a lot more sober.

Harvey deflates. “Oh.”

“Five years,” Mike says. He doesn’t look like he’s floating, anymore. Not good. “Five years I haven’t smoked. That’s how I knew Louis faked my drug test. I used to, all the time, then I went to Harvard. Then it was only after class, and on weekends. Then I came back from Harvard, and it was only on special occasions. Then Annie was eleven and found a dime bag and wanted to water it to make the flowers grow.” He sound melancholy, but he’s smiling softly, swathed in nostalgia. “Then it was never again. And now my grandmother is dead and my daughter is in someone else’s apartment because I can’t deal. I’m a terrible dad.”

Harvey sits down opposite him at the rickety dining table, is distracted momentarily by the joint cherry glowing between Mike’s fingers. “I ever tell you about _my_ dad?”

“I think you know the answer to that question.”

Mike looks at him the whole time he talks, which makes his skin feel like it is spiders. “He was a saxophone player. He sat in with everybody, because everybody loved him. He believed in love at first sight, and unfortunately, his first sight was a groupie.”

“Your mother.”

“I was sixteen when I caught her cheating. I knew if I told my dad, he’d…”Harvey’s hand balls itself up into fist. “Next two years went by, I didn’t say a thing, and she just went right on, just…making him a fool. Look, this is all to say that I lived in a house surrounded by family, but I know what it’s like to be totally alone. And Annie has one bit of family that is you and she is so not alone. And you are nowhere _near_ a terrible dad.”

“That was a mommy story,” Mike says very seriously.

“Well, you’re not a terrible mommy, either,” Harvey retorts, and makes grabby-hands for the joint, still glowing in Mike’s hands, like a cat with a laser pointer. Mike holds it out of reach, giggling again, finally, and relocates back to the couch. Harvey follows. “Mike.”

“It’s mine,” Mike says, leaning back with the joint over his head. Harvey crawls on top of him, flapping at it.

“Mine,” he argues, grabbing Mike’s free wrist for leverage.

“ _Mine_ ,” Mike parrots, and kisses him.

This, this is good. This is so good. Mike’s mouth is warm and open from the high and he tastes like pretzels, or maybe Harvey is still tasting pretzels. Harvey is already on top of him, even though he doesn’t know how, or when, and he presses Mike into the cushions, gets a knee between his thighs and rubs gently there. Mike’s head smacks back against the arm of the couch, and he breathes, “ _Harvey_ ,” like he’s dying, _so_ fucking good, and then yelps and scoots away.

“What?” Harvey blinks. Somehow, he is on his back, now, and Mike is not. Mike is hanging over the arm of the couch, fishing for something; he comes back up with the joint, now gone out.

“Burnt me,” Mike says, shaking out his hand. “I really shouldn’t be doing this.”

“Special occasion?” Harvey tries. He plucks the joint from between Mike’s fingers. Mike lets him.

“Never again,” he counters. Harvey gets the lighter to flick on the first time, and is very pleased. “Harvey, god, I shouldn’t.”

“You’re not,” Harvey says, “I am,” and inhales. Mike watches him with his mouth hanging slightly open, bright pink tongue and a flash of teeth. Harvey inhales again, grabs Mike’s wrist and wrenches him forward.

“Harvey—” Mike says, which is perfect, because his mouth is already open, and all Harvey has to do is grasp his jaw and breathe. Mike breathes, too, in, long and deep. So it isn’t his first time. Then Harvey is thinking about Mike’s first time, and he’s hard, and so is Mike, in his lap, and they’re kissing like they’re fighting, hard and mean and lasting.

“Such a godawful terrible awful idea,” Mike is mumbling into his mouth. Harvey has no idea what he’s talking about. This is a great idea. He grazes Mike’s jaw, rubs his cheek into his days-old stubble. Remembers Mike in the hospital, touching him unselfconsciously, and presses Mike’s hand to his chest so he’ll do it again.

“Your heart is beating so fast,” Mike slurs. He wasn’t slurring before, which means Harvey did that to him, which Harvey likes, a lot. “I didn’t even know you had a heart. See, that’s funny, because you're heartless.”

“You are — my heart,” Harvey stutters. He frowns. That’s not right. He tries again, but Mike makes a sound in his throat like a wounded animal and arches up to get his mouth, biting at him. His hands on Harvey’s shoulders, pushing his jacket down his arms, sliding down his chest over his shirt. Jacquard. Mike is running his hands up and down the Jacquard, humming.

“I owe Annie so much money,” Mike gasps.

“Don’t talk about your daughter right now,” Harvey groans back. It’s the wrong thing to say, because Mike scrambles out of his lap and onto his feet, rubbing at his mouth.

“Shit, _shit_ , Harvey.” Mike is staring at him, still touching his mouth, as if to check that Harvey hasn’t bitten it clean off. “My _daughter_ , and you’re my _boss_ , and she got you punched in the face by _Hardman_ —”

“Hardman,” Harvey snarls. “What I wouldn’t give to piss in that bastard’s office.”

Mike snickers, his turmoil momentarily forgotten. “That was pretty quick off the tongue.”

“Well, I’ve done it before.” He takes a beat to soak in the look on Mike’s face. “To Louis.”

“No way."

“Way.”

“Well, if you’ve done it before,” Mike says, and it’s almost as good as if he’d gotten back in Harvey’s lap.

“Why not do it again?”

—

Harvey is in the elevator off his face. High. Off his face. In the elevator.

Mike has his hoodie zipped all the way up, hood up on his head, black jean jacket thrown on over it. Harvey wants the jacket off, and the hoodie, and everything else. “Alright,” he whispers, peeking around the corner, “let’s go.”

“No no no.” Harvey claps. It echoes in the empty lobby. “It’s not right.”

“It’s not _right_? I drank three Gatorades on the way here. I’m gonna pee orange! It’s right!”

“No!”

“What?”

“If we’re gonna do something, it needs to be original.”

“ _Orange!_ ”

“I’m gonna get the can opener.”

Mike turns to him with eyes like saucers.

—

“Who is Kyle?” Harvey asks, while Mike is fiddling with the can opener, trying to get it right. “With _panache_.”

Mike complies. “Which Kyle?”

“Kyle that you fucking hate Kyle.”

“Kyle is from work,” Mike says, distracted, lining thumbtacks up on the edge of his desk.

“Ten more,” Harvey orders. Mike shakes the thumbtack container. “Which work?”

“My work. Annie’s work. He’s Kyle from work. I fucking hate Kyle. He sucks.” Mike sniggers. “ _Yeah_ he did,” he says to himself.

“What?”

“What?”

“Kyle sucks?”

“ _Yeah_ he did.”

“Gimme,” Harvey snaps, and snatches the can opener out of the air. Mike looks at him, wounded. “Who is Kyle?”

Mike blinks. “From work?”

Harvey rubs his forehead and tries to organise his thoughts. He fails miserably.

“I fucking hate Kyle,” Mike says thoughtfully. “From Annie’s work. She makes coffee. He makes it difficult for her to make coffee. And Kyle makes terrible coffee. From _my_ work,” he explains. “Well, both of them.”

“You hate him because he makes bad coffee?” Wow, that was even a sentence.

“I don’t hate him. Anymore. But we say it. It’s tradition. We like tradition.” Mike hums happily. “Annie likes traditions. Structure. It’s good for her. Like _Fight Club_ , and Sundays.” His face crumples. “And Grammy days. Otherwise, she gets quiet, and sad.”

“Don’t be sad,” Harvey says forlornly.

“I’m not sad.” Mike puffs out his chest. “Who said that?”

“Kyle,” Harvey says a little hysterically.

“I hate Kyle!” Mike grins. “Actually, not. I say it, but he’s okay. His coffee’s okay. And his proof-reading. And sometimes he’s funny. And he gives passable head.”

Harvey, furious, kisses him. Mike kisses him back, and with his arms around Harvey’s neck says, “We already did this. Didn’t we already do this? Bad idea. So bad.”

“Special occasion,” Harvey counters.

“So bad.” He moans, unabashed, when Harvey nips his jugular. “God, you feel good.” Harvey bites him again; so _good_ , Mike making sounds for him, so fucking good.“One time,” he murmurs in Mike’s ear, nibbling the skin behind it, “let me take you home one time and make you come.”

Mike keens and goes jelly-boned, and for a moment Harvey thinks he’s succeeded without having to take him home at all. Then he kisses Harvey fiercely and steps back, wrapping his arms around himself. “This is a bad time and a bad idea and my daughter and I can’t make smart choices right now, Harvey.”

Privately, Harvey thinks that being smart hasn’t made either of them very happy. But his buzz has worn off just enough that he doesn’t express that, just takes Mike back downstairs and hails him a cab back to Williamsburg.

—

As soon as she sees him the next morning, Donna says, “You kissed him.”

Harvey freezes. “You know that’s creepy, right? Even for you, that’s creepy.”

“Well?” She prompts.

“Nothing. It was fine.”

“It was _fine?_ ” Donna storms into his office just as Harvey’s about to close the door on her. “You have been making eyes at that boy since you hired him and all you have to say is _fine_?”

“I don’t make eyes.”

“You make eyes, Harvey.” Donna narrows her own. “At _him_.”

“ _Okay_ ,” Harvey relents, just to make her stop.

“Fifteen words.”

“Five.”

“Eleven.”

“Four.”

“Eight.”

“Eight.” Harvey sputters, annoyed, then sighs. “I want to do it again.”

“That’s six words,” Donna says.

Harvey closes his eyes; remembers, sudden and vivid, Mike in his lap, and has to open them. “And again.”

—

Mike doesn’t say anything. He talks to Harvey, of course, jokes with him, rattles off legalese like it’s his first language. But he doesn’t _say_ anything.

 _First rule of Fight Club_ , Harvey thinks a little wildly. He wonders if Annie knows. Probably.

“My advice to you is to start drinking heavily,” Mike says.

Harvey blinks. “Sorry?”

“For whatever you were thinking that made you look…like that.”

Harvey, because he is Harvey, recovers remarkably quickly. “I was thinking, maybe we could get some beer.”

“Nah, not tonight. Besides, you might get lucky without it.” Mike seems to realise what he’s just said, and flushes. Now, Harvey thinks, he’ll say something, and right then Mike’s phone rings. Annoyed, Harvey steals it out of Mike’s hand, ignoring his protests. It’s Annie. He puts it on speaker.

“Space monkey!” Harvey greets her.

“Daddy?”

Mike blanches. “I can talk.”

“Okay.” She’s slightly out of breath. “I need, uh. I need you to come get me.”

“Where are you?” Mike asks, snatching the phone up off the table. Harvey frowns at him; he shakes his head, ashen.

“Work. Um, Momma’s.”

“Okay,” Mike says, gathering his things and shoving them haphazardly into his bag. “I’m coming, I’m on my way. How bad?”

“Police are here.” Annie, for the first time, sounds stricken. “It’s not — I’m fine. But I need you to come get me. They’re calling the parents, I wanted to call you first.”

“Jesus, Annie.” It comes out as a whisper. “Okay, I’m coming. I’m coming. Want me to stay on the line?”

“Not if you’re biking.”

“I’ll take a cab.”

“It’s fine. I have to — give them my statement. It’s fine.”

“I’m coming, sweetheart.”

“Yeah. I love you.”

“Love you.”

“What was that?” Harvey asks, half-jogging after Mike, who is shooting towards the elevators like the floor is hot coals. “Mike, what the hell is going on?”

“I have to go.”

Harvey grabs his wrist. “Mike. Tell me.”

“Code,” Mike says desperately, jabbing the elevator call button several times in a row. “She never calls me Daddy — only Mike, or Dad, sometimes, depending — doesn’t matter. Daddy is an emergency.”

“A police emergency,” Harvey says.

Mike exhales. “Apparently.”

The elevator arrives; Harvey follows Mike into it, pulling out his own phone. “Ray — yes. Now.” He covers the receiver. “Where did you say?”

“Harvey, you don’t have to—”

“Where, Mike?”

Mike clenches his jaw. “Momma’s. It’s a coffeeshop in Greenpoint. Annie’s work.”

“Ray, it’s — you got it? Okay. We’re on our way down.”

Mike doesn’t say anything the whole way to Greenpoint, hands fisted in his lap, white as a sheet. Harvey doesn’t try to make him talk, just curls a hand around one of Mike’s fists. Haltingly, he relaxes it, and slots his fingers between Harvey’s.

Annie is waiting on the curb when they pull up outside Momma’s, which, Harvey finds out through Google, is an independent coffeeshop run by Momma Shorty and Momma Little, as they’re known. Something of a local treasure. Annie blinks at the car, and says, “I hate to break it to you, but you’re becoming what you think is wrong with America.”

“Get in the car,” Mike snaps. Takes a deep breath. “Sorry. Get in the car, please.”

Annie obliges, clambering over Mike to take the middle seat. She’s wearing a dark green apron over a black polo shirt, an enamel pin on the chest that says _SUPPORT BLACK-OWNED BUSINESSES_ , and another that looks just like Mike’s tie clip. It was a gift, Mike said. Wore it for the whole month.

“What happened?” Mike asks breathlessly, touching her face, her shoulders, making sure she’s still got all her pieces in the right place.

“Lizzie’s ex-boyfriend showed up,” Annie says, ridiculously unperturbed. “He had a gun. He did the whole speech, you know, _if I can’t have you, no one can_.” Annie’s impression of Lizzie’s ex-boyfriend makes him sound like Batman. “Anyway, Lonnie got in front of him, and I got under the counter, and Little was already in the back, so she called the police while Lizzie kept him talking. It was all very _Fatal Attraction_.”

“You’re taking this very well,” Harvey remarks.

“I think I’m still in shock,” she says cheerfully. When she catches Harvey looking at her, she says, “Don’t pity me, you smug bastard.”

“I’ll pity you because you’re sick,” Harvey says automatically.

Annie smiles weakly, and leans her head on his shoulder. She doesn’t talk for the rest of the ride.

—

Sure enough, Annie gets home and throws up, then cries in the bathroom as Mike talks to her in a low, soothing voice, like one might a spooked horse. Harvey stays in the living room, but the apartment is so small that he can hear it all anyway.

Annie comes out in different clothes, cotton shorts and one of Mike’s t shirts — the apron was probably her work uniform, Harvey realises. She says, in a very small voice, “Thank you for coming. I’m going to take some melatonin and — and go to bed.”

Harvey nods, says, “Of course,” and listens to the sound of her closing the bedroom door.

Mike comes back into the living room, looking like he’s been slapped. “I — need to pour bleach in the sink,” he says listlessly. “And call work — I just left, Jessica’s going to—”

“Jessica will understand,” Harvey says firmly. “Sit down. Mike, sit down.”

Mike does, so horribly pale Harvey thinks he might pass out. He goes to the kitchen to get him a glass of water, and when he comes back, Mike is crying — no melodrama, just the silent shaking of his shoulders, tears on his cheeks that he wipes away with his fingers. Harvey gives him the water; he takes it with shaking hands and sips clumsily.

“She could have died,” he says quietly. “There was a _gun_ — she could have died, and Grammy just — and then it would just be me, by myself, in this shitty fucking apartment —”

“It wouldn’t,” Harvey says, touching his hand. Mike clasps it immediately. “And anyway, it isn’t. She’s right here, Mike. Sound asleep.”

“Our Annie,” Mike says brokenly. “Grammy always said. _That Annie, our Annie. What in the world would it take to break her_.”

“Our Annie,” Harvey repeats softly.

Mike kisses him, right there on his couch, sober, in broad daylight. Harvey kisses back, stunned. “I don’t think I care about making smart choices anymore,” he murmurs.

“What are you implying,” Harvey huffs, and that gets a laugh out of him, at least. “And I do. Care. And you shouldn’t, right now. We shouldn’t."

“Bad time and a bad idea and my daughter,” Mike recites verbatim, because of course he does. His smile is sardonic.

Harvey doesn’t respond. He is thinking, _I love you_ , consumed by it, and worries that if he tries to say something else it’ll slip out.

—

Harvey wakes up in a strange room with a strange weight on top of him. He tries to sit up, and the weight snuffles. Mike.

Harvey, after some very careful finagling, manages to get out from under him. He adjusts Mike’s head so his neck won’t give him hell in the morning, refills his glass of water, and after rootling around in a kitchen drawer, finds a sharpie and a pad of pink Post-Its and leaves him a note.

It feels weirdly shameful, to leave like this. Harvey checks his phone; it’s just gone 2:30. He has five hours before work starts, seven before he actually has to be there.

He hails the lone cab trundling down the street and directs it to Pearson Hardman.

—

Donna marches into the office at exactly seven thirty and says, “You look like shit.”

Harvey looks up from his place in the sea of paperwork for the six cases he’s closed in the last five hours and says, somewhat desperately, “I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“Changing,” Donna says, ducking behind his desk to retrieve his extra suit and emergency toiletry bag. “Shaving. Brushing your teeth, Harvey, Jesus.”

Donna bundles him into the partner bathroom and locks the door behind them, kicking his ass through his morning routine like she hasn’t done since his DA days.

While he’s in the middle of shaving, Donna says, “Tell him you love him.”

Harvey very pointedly stops shaving. “Can you not say shit like that while I have a razor to my neck?”

Donna smirks. “Bite the bullet,” she stage-whispers.

“Yes, it’s very funny because you coerced me into watching that movie with your girlfriend,” Harvey grouses. “Don’t expect to keep getting bonuses if I die.”

“I will get bonuses until the day the sun swallows the earth because I am just that good,” Donna says, and it’s not like Harvey can argue with that. “Also, fiancée.”

Harvey has to stop shaving again. “What? What? When?”

“Soon,” Donna murmurs. “I want to ask her properly. But it’s her. I just know.” She looks at him. “Sometimes, you just know. You know?”

“Yeah,” Harvey says, answering both senses of the question. “I know.”

—

“Annie’s in therapy,” Mike tells him, as soon as they see each other. “I mean, she was already in therapy. But now she’s — more in therapy."

“Good,” Harvey says, and means it. “That’s good.”

Mike offers him a small smile. “Yeah.” He hoists the customary stack of case files in his arms. “Um, I think I should work from my cubicle today. I mean, for a while.”

“Okay,” Harvey says, and doesn’t mean it this time.

“Harvey,” Donna says gently. “He’s just asking for some time.”

“I’m fine,” Harvey tells her.

“Of course you are,” she agrees.

When he goes down to the bullpen to drop something on Mike’s desk, he sees the pink Post-It with his handwriting pinned up next to the photograph of Mike and Annie.

They’ll be okay.

—

They run into each other at the end of the day — or rather, Mike runs into him, smack-bang in the doorway of his office.

“Whoa,” Harvey says, putting an arm around him to steady them both. Mike steps out of his reach, pink in the face, eyes darting around the hallway.

“I think you should come home with me,” Mike says, which is so at odds with his body language it takes Harvey a second to process it.

“Uh.”

“For dinner,” he tacks on, and even his ears are red. “It’s my night. Do you know how to make fajitas?”

“No,” Harvey admits. “But I do have a pretty good track record with dicing.”

—

“Listen,” Mike says, very, very quietly, while Harvey expertly dices enough onions to fill half a cup. “Annie once told me that she hated the word orphan, because she never felt like one. I never let her. And she has always been the most important thing in the world to me.”

“I would never ask you to give that up,” Harvey says, just as quietly. In the living room, Annie hums something from this year’s hit parade, thumbing through her DVD collection for something to eat their fajitas in front of.

“ _Listen_ ,” Mike reiterates, more urgently. “I dedicated my whole life to her and I never looked back. And I don’t regret it. And I have never — never wanted to give that to someone else.” Abruptly, he turns away from Harvey, under the pretext of needing to run his knife under the kitchen tap. “So I just — need time. A little time. And I understand if you — if you can’t give me that.”

Harvey comes up behind him, puts a staying hand on his hip. Grazes the back of his neck with his teeth and feels Mike shiver against his chest. “Okay,” Harvey says. And he means it.

—

Harvey helps make dinner the next night, too, this time playing sous-chef to Annie, who shows him how to make fried rice so heavenly it makes him think unholy goddamn thoughts. He finally gets around to watching _Legally Blonde_ , which delights her, and vexes Mike, because they make fun of him the whole time. He meets Annie’s coffee crew, Lizzie and Lonnie and Day Manager Maz and Mommas both Shorty and Little, and even Kyle, who has a crush on Annie so glaringly obvious it’s practically blinding. He meets Annie’s girlfriend, Letitia, because why wouldn’t she have a girlfriend, and Letitia is wonderful, if a little precocious. Mike hooks his ankle around Harvey’s whenever they’re sitting at the dinner table together, even while he and Annie keep their constant back-and-forth going; Annie lets him look through her record collection, comprised largely of artists he’s never heard of, most of which he grows to like, eventually. One night, with Whitney Houston belting about how she wants to dance with somebody, Harvey grabs her and spins her till she’s dizzy and breathless with laughter, and watches Mike smile at them both with a strange, grieving sort of joy.

“Going home early,” he tells Donna one afternoon, and realises he means Williamsburg, Mike’s musty green couch, his scented candles and second-hand record player and his daughter, Mike’s daughter.

Donna doesn’t bat an eyelid. Harvey goes home. Annie hugs him at the door.

—

Harvey thinks he gets why Mike’s phone is blowing up all the goddamn time. He gets a text from an unknown number one afternoon that reads only _have u eaten lunch?????????_

Harvey sends back the same number of question marks.

 _mike says u didn’t eat lunch. eat your lunch, harvey_ , and okay, Harvey knows who this is, now, keys it into his contacts before he forgets.

Annie Ross: _look behind you_

Harvey does, and sees only his office wall. When he turns back around, Annie is standing in front of his desk. Harvey jumps about ten feet in the air.

“Sorry,” she says. “I thought you were going to be on the couch.”

“Annie,” he babbles, trying to regain his composure, “what a pleasant surprise!”

“A lie is a very poor way to say hello,” Annie chides.

Harvey sits back. “You’re a Trekker?”

Annie grins, shakes her head. “No, but Mike told me you are. He made me sit through the entire thing, original and reboot.” She hold up a brown paper bag, the kind Mike used to bring lunch in every day. “Thought we could eat.”

“What, no Star Wars lunchbox?”

“You stuck-up, half-witted, scruffy-looking nerf herder,” Annie says, so indignantly Harvey actually feels berated for a moment. When he rolls his eyes, she grins again.

“Do I have a choice?”

“Resistance is futile.”

Lunch is sandwiches, cheese and onions and tomatoes and roast chicken layered thickly on multigrain bread. Annie takes a bite, chews carefully and thoroughly, swallows, and says, “I have autism.”

“Okay,” Harvey says, and hopes there isn’t mustard on his face.

“High-functioning.” She says it like a swear word. “So people don’t usually guess. I’m polite, and pick up on most social cues. Sometimes I say the wrong thing, or talk too much, but who doesn’t, right? There are co-morbidities, of course: anxiety—” Annie takes a deep breath. “Just. Some sounds, textures. Bright lights and loud noises. But this is New York City.”

“Yes,” Harvey agrees, surreptitiously dabbing at his mouth with a crumpled napkin.

“Mike worries about me.” She laughs, barely, a puff of air. “I mean, he’d worry about me anyway. But especially. I don’t deal with change very well. He makes breakfast every morning, and we have dinner every night at eight. I always get the first shower. He bikes to work and I take the subway; two dollars and eleven minutes, if you leave at the right time. He calls me at six thirty, right when my shift ends.” She’s grinding her teeth. Harvey can see the muscle in her jaw jumping. “Not so much anymore. Least of all because I won’t be going to work for a while.”

“Mike said you were — getting help.”

“Yeah. I was under the counter, for most of it. But — it was scary. And it’s a big change.”

“I’m sorry,” Harvey says sincerely.

She shakes her head. “Don’t. It’s not your fault. Look, I just — Mike is nervous, about new things, because he knows I am. I know he loves me, and he would never say it, but his life would be so much easier without me in it. I know it’s not my fault,” she says, when Harvey opens his mouth to shut that line of thought down _immediately_ , “I worked that out a long time ago. But we just — did everything backwards. He was a father before he could legally drink. He’s had boyfriends, but they were always passing. I never met most of them. He gave up Harvard — the life he deserved to live. He’s never regretted it, he always says, but then he never had a choice. You don’t have a choice, when you have kids.” The muscle in her jaw is jumping again. “When you hired him — I’ve never _seen_ him like that, Harvey. It was hard, for both of us. There were meltdowns. A really long adjustment period. But we figured it out; we always do, the two of us. I saw him get to use every part of his brain. I could never work a desk job, I don’t think,” and she smirks when Harvey does, “not like this, but you see the same people every day. You let them into your life. He has friends, real ones. He gets invited to birthday dinners and he goes. He found himself a Kyle.” She laughs a little. “Look at me, talking too much.”

“You’re not saying any of the wrong things,” Harvey says.

She smiles at him brilliantly. Harvey understands, now, his mother’s urge to cocoon Marcus in their picture perfect parody of family, to bury her transgressions; not to hide her own shortcomings, but the whole world’s. “I just — I just mean. Mike will worry about telling you this, about me, and how hard things are, sometimes. I won’t be an excuse, I won’t — I won’t be the thing that keeps him from being happy. He’s happy, with me, with our life. But it could be better for him, and I am not getting in the way of that, I am not letting him let me get in the way. So now you know. Everything. I make people uncomfortable. Because my name is foreign in their mouths, and I’m neurodivergent, and I like women. I mean, I like everyone else, too, but I’m a woman, so that’s the worst one.”

“You don’t make me uncomfortable,” Harvey tells her.

“You bought me a record,” she says, sounding a little choked. “Nobody ever — no one except Mike. And I — I like you. He worries about that, too, you know. But I do. And I want this for him. And you. Did you know Donna’s getting married?” Harvey nods. “I’m going to be a flower girl. I’ve never been a flower girl before. I’ve never — I —” She wipes at her eyes quickly. “I’ve never had a family outside of Mike and Grammy. After Grammy — went — it was so fucking _strange_ , to not be with Mike. I’ve never spent the night away from home. But I wanted him to get to be twenty, you know? That’s the second time he’s had to bury his parents, and he never got to mourn, not completely, because he was so busy being a parent himself. And there was somewhere else I could go — I’ve never had that before. Somewhere else where people loved me and I was safe. That’s what you did for him, for us, when you gave him this job. And you bought me a record. And now you know everything, and there can be no more excuses.”

“Does Mike know you’re here?” Harvey asks.

Annie shakes her head, and then smiles a little. “This is his one chance at happiness. I have to be ruthless.”

“Crème brûlée can never be Jell-O,” Harvey returns, “think I can’t quote Julia Roberts, get out of here,” and she does, but not before hugging him long and hard.

—

“Annie said she came to see you.” Mike looks pensive, doesn’t make eye contact. “Talked to you about — some stuff.”

“She’s a great kid,” Harvey says.

“That surprises you?” Some of the playfulness is back in his voice.

“No,” Harvey says honestly. “She’s _your_ kid.”

Mike smiles, surprised and pleased. Says, “Kiss me as if it were the last time.”

Heat shoots through Harvey’s body so fast he gets a little light-headed, and he can’t, because they’re at work, and it’s the middle of the day. _There can be no more excuses_ , Annie told him. “Here’s looking at you, kid,” Harvey says, a little raspy, and watches Mike smile again, twice as big.

They’ll be okay.

—

The next time Harvey goes to dinner, Annie, in the middle of stirring a pot of tom yam on the stove, says, “I know how to hide a body.”

“That does not surprise me at all,” Harvey says honestly.

“I’m just saying,” she replies. “I don’t have Mike’s brain, but I do know a lot of things. And Mike is my whole world. So if you hurt him…”

“I wouldn’t,” Harvey says, and adds, “Liam Neeson,” just to make her laugh.

“What’s going on in there?” Mike calls from the living room, just as the opening notes of _Dusty Blue_ waft into the kitchen.

“Shovel talk,” Annie calls back sweetly, and Mike’s ensuing groan makes her laugh again.

Yeah. They’ll be okay.

—

Things come crashing down around Mike, as they so often do. He barges into Harvey’s office and says, grey-faced, “Louis knows.”

Harvey starts to reply, but then Louis is barging into his office, too, dragging Jessica in behind him.“When the hell were either of you going to tell me that Mike Ross never went to Harvard?”

“Whenever you asked, Louis,” Harvey says, as Jessica forcibly extracts her elbow from Louis’ fat fingers. Louis withers. Harvey is sure his office is about to become the scene of a murder, and turns his back to both of them so he can have deniability.

“How could you be so selfish as to sully the name of our firm like this?”

“My firm,” Jessica says coolly. “Mike Ross works for me. ”

Harvey turns back around. Louis turns a particularly unattractive shade of puce. “You _knew_?”

“I’m the managing partner, Louis. It’s my job to know.”

“Bullshit,” he sneers, “you’re covering Harvey's ass. Like you always do. Why would you make him an associate, if he’s working directly for you?”

“When Mike Ross took the Bar,” Jessica says, “he had no working experience. I thought he could benefit from some.”

“But I — he — you —” Louis splutters, and then galumphs out angrier than he came in.

“Thank you,” Harvey says emphatically.

Jessica raises an eyebrow. “Just covering your ass like I always do.”

—

Mike gets busier, after that. He stops working in Harvey’s office, and when does, he looks pale and drawn like he had those first few weeks before he ended up in the hospital. “Louis,” he explains shortly, and goes back to highlighting with both hands and taking three-minute lunch breaks to inhale Red Bull and instant ramen.

Harvey worries himself sick. “I can tell Louis to back off,” he offers.

“Not necessary,” Mike snaps. “Look, Harvey, I appreciate you having my back, but I can fight my own battles, okay?”

“Excuse me for worrying about my boyfriend,” Harvey snaps back, and then both of them freeze.

“I’m fine,” Mike says. “Okay? It’s just the job. You don’t have to worry about me.”

Harvey nods tersely, and Mike touches his shoulder before he leaves.

“Not a word,” Harvey growls.

Donna stops grinning briefly to mime zipping her lips.

He sees Annie later that afternoon, Mike guiding her into the elevator with a hand on the small of her back. She’s wearing a dress — he’s never seen her in a dress before — plum-coloured, knee-length, and something shimmery on her cheekbones. When she leans up to kiss Mike on the cheek, she leaves a violet smear behind. Mike spots him when the elevator doors close and walks up, smiling lopsidedly.

“What was that about?” Harvey asks.

Mike shrugs, hands spread in front of him. He looks _done_. But after that, he starts working in Harvey’s office again, and goes home every day at six.

—

For all his thinking about calling Marcus recently, Harvey hasn’t actually gotten around to doing it. He stares at his phone, takes a deep breath, and dials _Little_ _Baby Specter_ (and makes a mental note to stop letting Donna programme his phone).

“Who died?” Marcus says immediately.

“What?” Harvey says, thrown. “Nobody.”

“Then why isn’t this an email?”

“I call you,” Harvey scoffs, but he hasn’t as much, these last few years. “Look, I was thinking, maybe I could come up to Boston this weekend. See you and Katie, and the kids.”

“I can’t have you around my kids. You spoil them.”

“I’m their godfather,” Harvey replies. “If I don’t, who will?”

“What’s the matter, Harvey?”

“No matter.”

“What’s with the sudden itch for family bonding? You don’t even like kids.”

“I like your kids.”

“It’s fine, Harvey. Kids don’t like you either.”

“Well, my boyfriend’s daughter loves me.”

Marcus’ sputtering silence is gratifying, if nerve-wracking. “You son of a bitch,” he says eventually. “Why didn’t you lead with that?”

“That wouldn’t have been nearly as much fun,” Harvey tells him. “And I really do like your kids.”

Mike is nervous about going to Boston, about leaving Annie with Nell and Donna for a whole weekend. “We’re not leaving Annie anywhere,” Harvey frowns, “she’s coming with us, didn’t I mention that?” and Mike tugs him around to the blind spot in his office by the record shelf and kisses him.

Jessica is standing by the window with her back to him when he goes to her office to tell her, looking out at the city with her shoulders hunched. “Quentin died,” she says quietly.

“I’m sorry,” Harvey says, wanting, once again, to make it all go away for her, warring with the frustration of not being able to.

Quentin Sainz has named Harvey and Jessica co-executors of his estate; Harvey is oddly moved. He hardly knew the man. But he knows Jessica, and maybe for Quentin Sainz that was enough.

Lisa is demure, but polite to both of them. She’s wearing a diamond eternity ring, and her general counsel refers to her as Mrs Sainz. Jessica’s breath catches, but her speech is unhindered.

After the meeting is over, Harvey calls Marcus to tell him they won’t make it this weekend. “Jessica’s — uh, she has a personal thing. I need to stay here and man the wheel for a little bit.”

“For God’s sake, then, Harvey,” Marcus says, “we’ll come to you.”

It’s strange, to go from the sombreness of carrying out a sick man’s last wishes to Marcus and his family at home, loud and celebratory, Katie grilling him about his mystery man as they make dinner together, Marcus entertaining Haley and Gordie at the piano.

“What about the daughter?” Katie says. It comes out like _daugh-tair_ ; she’s never quite been able to shake the French out of her accent.

“Her name is Ananya,” Harvey says. “She wears combat boots and reads poetry. I don’t deserve either of them."

Katie cuffs him over the back of the head. “You Specter boys,” she says disapprovingly, “so blind to your own worth. And now I have to wash my hands again.”

Jessica is subpoenaed by Sainz Pharmaceuticals to testify to Quentin’s state of mind when he made her executor of his estate. “They’re trying to contest the will,” she says.

Harvey blinks. “What the hell happened while I was gone?”

“Does it matter?”

Harvey wants to tell her yes, it very much does, but they don’t have time. “I’m going with you,” he tells her, and then goes to tell Mike the same thing.

“Of course,” Mike says, as soon he explains the situation. “We’ll all go.”

Annie meets them on the building’s steps. Jessica says, “Miss Ross,” and Annie, looking both determined and apprehensive, says, “Call me Annie, please.”

“Jessica,” Jessica offers in return. Some kind of understanding passes between both women, and then Donna says, “Car’s here,” and they’re all piling in, wedged in together like sardines. Harvey is not accustomed to being squished to the door in the back of his own car, and does not care for it all, but they’re packed in so close that Mike can put a hand on his knee without Louis thinking anything of it.

He’s seen Jessica on the stand before, of course, but he’s never failed to be impressed by her. Lisa’s there, too, waiting for them in the gallery, and she slides over to make room for them. When the judge says, “Motion to remove Jessica Pearson as executor denied,” she lets out a rush of breath and grabs Harvey’s arm so tight it hurts.

Jessica steps off the stand, and Harvey watches her and Lisa talk in hushed voices. Mike comes up to him, links their fingers. They’re close enough to the real world to get away with it. Louis and Annie are standing a few feet away, heads bent close as they discuss something that has both of them waving their hands; Louis catches sight of him and Mike standing together and gives him a nod, smiling warmly. Harvey only just remembers to smile back. He doesn’t know when _that_ happened, but he’s not one to look a gift horse in the mouth.

Jessica and Lisa hug, and then so do Annie and Donna, Louis clapping both of them on the back soundly. Harvey watches, dumbfounded, as Jessica approaches them and hugs Annie, too, says, “Thank you,” the way Harvey knows she means it.

 _Only family_ , Harvey remember Mike saying, as he introduces Annie as, “My daughter, Annie Ross,” and Annie accepts it, as well as Marcus’ hearty handshake and Katie’s exuberant kisses. Haley and Gordie _love_ her, climb all over her as she reads to them from a dog-eared copy of _The Boy in the Dress_ , complete with silly voices.

“She works in the children’s section of a bookstore,” Mike murmurs, when he sees Harvey watching them. “They do readings, sometimes. She dresses up for them.”

They’re having dinner in Mike’s apartment; Mike hadn’t wanted to, aware of the creature comforts Harvey’s family is used to, but Harvey insisted, wanted to show Marcus how serious he is about Mike, about Mike’s family. Marcus looks ecstatic all night, talks and jokes with Annie like he would any other adult at the table. (Albeit they’re eating on cushions on the floor, because Mike’s apartment isn’t really made for hosting more than one person at a time.) Annie is sharp as she always is, asks Marcus about his restaurants and Katie about her jewellery business, takes it in stride when someone mentions Marcus’ cancer offhandedly.

Marcus demands to help with the dishes, so Annie rinses while he scrubs. Mike and Katie are sitting on the couch drinking wine and probably gossiping madly, knowing Katie. Harvey gets put on drying duty, and he’s stacking dinner plates in the Good China Cabinet with his back turned to both of them when Annie’s voice says, “I’m glad you got better.”

“Me too, kid,” Marcus says, and there’s a pause where the only audible sound is the kitchen tap running while he hugs her, maybe. Marcus has always been a hugger.

Harvey closes the cabinet with a _clack_ , and the moment passes. Before he drives home, he hugs her, too.

—

“Jenny wants me to marry her.”

Harvey looks up, perplexed.

“To someone else,” Mike elucidates. “She wants me to perform the ceremony.”

“Jenny’s getting married?” Harvey recalls the gold wedding band she’d been wearing when he’d first met her; they only see each other in passing now, usually in the elevator or the lobby when Jenny’s on her way up to Jacobson-Holt’s offices on the forty-sixth floor. He’d assumed she was already married.

“Yes,” Mike says, twirling his pen. “She and Rachel want to get it done before Rachel goes off to law school.”

“Jenny’s getting married to _Rachel_?” Harvey asks, and then his brain catches up with him. “Wait, Rachel’s going to law school?”

“I just said that,” Mike huffs.

“But Rachel doesn’t wear a ring,” Harvey mutters, reeling. Rachel, he sees all the time.

“Of course Rachel wears a ring,” Mike says impatiently. “You just don’t pay enough attention to other people to have noticed.”

Harvey leans forward and says, low and gravelly, “Come home with me and I’ll pay you all kinds of attention.”

“ _Harvey_ ,” Mike hisses, turning deliciously red, and then says, “Can’t. I have to go get ordained.”

“I can tell by the look you just had on your face that you’re not fit to step into a church.”

“You don’t have to go to church to get ordained,” Mike says, like this is something he should know. “It’s not a religious thing, just bureaucracy. You can probably do it on the Internet.”

“I have the Internet at my place.”

“There you are!” Mike jumps. Harvey does _not_. Both of them turn to find Louis in the doorway, tapping his foot, arms crossed.

“I told you I needed the Carell filings by lunch. I don’t pay you to wag your tongue, Michael.”

“You don’t pay him at all,” Harvey bristles, because who even says _wag your tongue_ in real life, but Mike says, “Coming, sorry,” and gathers his things. He blows an air-kiss at Harvey before he leaves.

Rachel drops by later to give Harvey an invitation of his very own; sure enough, she’s wearing a ring, a plain, slim, gold band exactly like Jenny’s. “Congratulations,” Harvey says, sincere, and she gives him a glowing smile.

“I hope this isn’t too weird, but I’d like it if you were in the wedding,” Rachel says, tugging at the strap of her watch nervously. “Mike is performing it, anyway, and I need one more person on my side.”

“Of course,” Harvey says, floored and touched. “If you don’t mind me asking, why not have Mike on your side?”

Rachel’s smile reappears, tinged with relief. “My fiancée and I both wanted him for best man, and this is how we compromised. We wouldn’t know each other at all, if it weren’t for him.”

“Mike does have a way of bringing people together,” Harvey smiles in return. “I’d be honoured.”

Rachel nods, thanking him, and then adds, “Also, Jessica wants to see you,” and leads him to her office.

“Yes?” Harvey says, and then notices Rachel closing the door behind her.

Jessica looks between them. “What?”

“Why…am I here?” Harvey says, looking at Rachel himself.

“You’re here to listen to me,” Rachel says. She mostly addresses Jessica. Harvey sits down the couch to watch.

“I think Pearson Hardman should pay for my law school.”

Jessica sits back, a rare moment of astonishment. “Our contract with you is a promise of a job when you get out, not paying for you on your way in.”

“I have a list here of the signing bonuses of the top three associates who have come into this firm.” Rachel places a file on Jessica’s desk. “Give me an advance on mine.”

“You really are Robert Zane’s daughter.”

“Yes, but I don’t want to work for him. I want to work for you.”

Jessica nods to say, _Go on_. She’s wearing her courtroom face.

“Speaking of my father,” Rachel says, “he has this thing he always says: never sign anything without getting something in return.”

“And what would I be getting in return?”

“I keep working here part-time. The advance, plus my salary, will cover my tuition.”

“Paralegals don’t make that much. Those numbers don’t add up.”

“I’m not proposing being a paralegal. Summer associates work as lawyers, and I can do the same.”

“You came up with that pretty fast,” Jessica smiles. “It’s almost as if you wanted me to ask you what I get in return.”

Rachel smiles back. “Do we have a deal?”

“One problem,” Jessica says, and Harvey can tell it’s not a refusal, just a test. “You already asked if I’d waive the Harvard rule for you, and I told you no. Why would I break precedent for this?”

“I’m not asking you to break anything. You already established precedence, with him.” She looks at Harvey for the first time since she started talking. “When you paid for his law school.”

“That,” Jessica raises an eyebrow, “is not common knowledge.”

Rachel grins. “No. It isn’t.”

“That’s why she wanted me here,” Harvey says, delighted. “I’m Exhibit A.”

“You made an investment in Harvey and I think that turned out pretty well,” Rachel says, as Jessica shoots him a look.

“I could argue that point.”

“No, Rachel’s right. I’m pretty awesome.” That earns him another look.

Jessica sighs. “I assume you have this in writing?”

Rachel hands her a blue legal file. “I wouldn’t be worth it if I wasn’t.”

The file leaves Jessica’s office with a fresh signature not moments later. Rachel speed-walks into the nearest conference room, slaps the file down on the table, and squeals, fists pumping. Harvey watches her, amused. Someone pushes past him — Jenny, blonde hair whipping behind her, saying, “She went for it?” and Rachel nods, and both of them do some more squealing, and then they kiss, right there in the conference room.

Harvey turns away, and pulls out his phone to text Mike the good news.

—

Every morning, Donna combs through Harvey’s emails, replies to everything for which she has the authority and the answers, and tags the rest as _Urgent_ , _URGENT_ , and _Jessica,_ depending on how immediately he needs to see them. The email at the top of his inbox is from one Ananya E. Ross and is flagged as all three.

It’s a photograph; not an attachment, but the email proper. It’s of Mike, from about a decade ago, but still clearly him, wearing a party hat and a massive grin, the black jean jacket from that night neither of them talk about, jeans to match, and battered Chuck Taylors Harvey is pretty sure he still owns. Mike in the photograph is carrying a little girl on his back, tawny skin, dark hair falling around her shoulders. She’s wearing a party hat, too, and huge round glasses with blue plastic frames, not a front tooth in site. In the corner, the picture is stamped _09/26/92_.

 _mike’s first birthday as a daddy_ , Annie has written under it. _he said that made it extra special._

 _Is that a challenge?_ Harvey writes back, because he likes to think he’s gotten to know Annie pretty well.

 _you’ll never be jello_ , Annie replies almost immediately.

“I need the weekend.”

“Got it,” Donna says. “But bring him back Monday morning the latest. He’ll want to spend his actual birthday with his daughter.”

“How did you — never mind.” With Donna, he’d rather not know.

—

It’s nearly midnight when Harvey finally works up the courage to knock on Mike’s door.

“I’m not here!” Mike’s voice yells. _Where is my cereal?!_ The TV yells back.

Harvey knocks again.

“God, what—” That’s Annie’s voice. Her face lights up when she sees him. “Harvey!”

“Harvey?” Mike is staring at him over Annie’s shoulder, wearing sweats and a dark grey t shirt. Harvey wants to _eat_ him. “What are you doing here?”

Harvey pushes past them into the apartment. “Are you watching _Diff’rent Strokes_?”

Annie smirks; Mike babbles. “Uh, yeah, well, it’s the touching story of a couple of orphans, so—”

“Don’t,” Harvey says at the same time Annie does.

“I’m gonna let you boys talk.” She smirks some more. “Just by the way — very thin walls.”

“ _Annie_ ,” Mike groans, and mutters something to himself about the Hudson River.

“Get your tux on. We’ve got a situation.”

“A situation that requires a tux,” Mike says. “Where — where is this tuxedo situation?”

“Atlantic City.”

“ _No_ ,” Mike says immediately, “I can’t just go to Atlantic City.”

“Remember that conversation we were just having?” Harvey doesn’t know when Annie came back into the room, but it was quietly enough to make both of them start when she speaks. “About moving on and letting go?”

“I didn’t think you meant _tonight_ ,” Mike says to her.

“Consider it a trial run.” Annie uncrosses her arms as Mike tenses. “It’ll be a good test, okay?” She says, walking up to put her arms around his waist. Into his chest, she says, “I love you. I’ll be fine.”

Mike hugs her back, but he says, “Annie.”

“I’ll keep my phone on the whole time you’re gone. If anything happens, I’ll go to Donna and Nell’s.”

“If anything happens, you’ll _call me_.”

“After I go to Donna and Nell’s.” Mike glares at her. She glares back. “I will call you, okay? And I’ll have Donna call you. But you have to promise not to come back until you’ve resolved your — tuxedo situation. Stop controlling everything and just let go.”

“I am Jack’s begrudging acquiescence,” Mike says, which apparently means yes, or so Annie seems to take it. She hugs him again, and then winks at Harvey, and bids them both good night.

“Now can you get dressed?”

“I could.” Mike cards a hand through his hair.

“But?”

“I don’t have a tux.”

Harvey sighs.

“I’m not Bruce Wayne!”

“Don’t I know it.”

—

Mike, to exactly no one’s surprise, has no idea what do with a bow tie.

“You just carry an around an extra tux for the random occasion?” He asks, tying it into knots around his neck.

“Something told me you’d need it. And by ‘something’, I mean common sense. And by ‘need it’, I mean you’re an idiot.”

“You’re projecting,” Mike sing-songs, “because you _loooove_ me.”

Harvey is looking out the window, and stays that way, fingers white-knuckled on the door handle.

“Not even gonna ask me how I know? _Wow_ , you’ve got it _bad_.”

“No further questions.”

“That’s my line.”

The joviality of it makes Harvey able to face him, to breathe. He’s grinning from ear to ear, eyes flashing blue and black in the passing streetlights.

“I need a continuance,” Harvey tries, smiling weakly.

“Denied,” Mike says, because evidently Mike is also the judge. He unties his mess of a bow tie and starts from scratch. “I’m gonna tell you how I know, because it’s killing you, I can tell. I know you. I _know_ you, Harvey. Annie has never been in love before but she said she knows what it’s like and I asked her how could she possibly and she said she sees how you look at me. And that first week after you met Annie I was such a goddamn mess about it and Donna said the same thing. And I see it now, ’cause I know you. And I know you love that I know you love me. And you showed up at my apartment at eleven thirty on a Thursday night because you love me. And you can’t make eye contact with me right now because you love me. How’s that?” Mike’s tie is sloppy and crooked; Harvey can’t bear it any longer, grabs Mike’s wrist and pulls him across the seat.

Mike yelps. Harvey redoes his tie, efficient, well-practiced. “Yeah,” he croaks into the quiet.

Mike smiles so goddamn wide, turns his face up for a kiss. “You _loooove_ me,” he sings, “you wanna _maaaaarry_ me,” and crawls into Harvey’s lap.

“I wouldn’t go that far,” Harvey says into his mouth. Mike kisses him again, quickly, then cups his face in his hands.

“I love you, too,” he says, looking right into Harvey’s eyes as he says it. “Even though you’ve obviously never seen _Miss Congeniality_ , and you pawned me off on Louis this morning.”

“That was — I didn’t — my —” Harvey closes his eyes. He can’t take Mike looking at him like that, like he’s the only thing in the whole world. “I couldn’t look at you.”

“Because you love me.” He doesn’t even sing it that time.

“Yes,” Harvey concedes, and it doesn’t feel like defeat. It feels like flying. “Yes, I love you.”

Mike kisses him again suddenly, hungrily, shoves his hands under Harvey’s jacket to claw at his back. “So hot,” he murmurs against Harvey’s lips, “so fucking hot when you say it, God—”

“Mike — Jesus —” Mike’s shirt is still untucked; Harvey gets a fistful of it and pulls him in, in, in. “Can you just — give me a second —”

“Love it when you say it,” Mike is saying, kissing him everywhere, his eyes and cheeks and just under his jaw, biting him there. Harvey makes a sound he decides to be embarrassed about later. “Love it when you talk, Harvey, and say my name—”

“ _Mike_ ,” Harvey says, and Mike makes a noise like a wounded animal. “Look — hey — listen to me. We can’t right now — we can’t — _fuck_ , Jesus —”

Mike has wormed a hand between them, between Harvey’s legs. “Tell me you want me,” he demands, pressing in with the heel of his hand. Harvey’s cock _jumps_.

“I want you,” Harvey says immediately. “I have wanted you —” _since the day I met you_ , but that’s too much truth for one night. “— so goddamn much, Mike, but not like this. Not like this.”

Mike is working pretty intently on that spot under his jaw; over the collar, which means it’ll show tomorrow. His hand is still between Harvey’s thighs, stroking.

“But why not like this,” Mike whispers, coming up for air. “I remember you saying,” he grinds down, and Harvey can feel he’s just as hard, if not more, “something about making me come.”

Harvey shudders, wracked with pleasure from the tips of his toes. “I said I would take you home, first.” Mike ruts against him, panting into Harvey’s mouth, eyes glassy. Harvey grabs his hips hard enough to bruise. “You are not going to come in my tux pants.”

“God, Harvey,” Mike says, going for his belt, “then I’ll take them off.”

Harvey grabs both hands, and, because he cannot goddamn help himself, pins them at the small of Mike’s back just to watch him flush and gasp. “Ray is in the front."

“And?”

“I like Ray.”

“You like me more,” Mike breathes, trying to kiss him.

“ _You_ like Ray,” Harvey says, succumbing for a moment to Mike’s very persistent tongue. “I want you to be able to look him in the eye in the morning.”

“Partition’s up.” It is; Ray had put it up so Mike could change in relative privacy.

“He’s not deaf.” Pointedly, the sound of the radio wafting in from the front gets significantly louder. Harvey fights a smile as Mike groans, knocking his head against Harvey’s chest. 

“Fine,” he says eventually, “fine.” He turns sideways in Harvey’s lap and pulls his arm around him, just over the swell of his dick.

“What—” It comes out strangled. Harvey stops.

“Atlantic City is two hours away,” Mike says, settling in.

They stay like that, for two hours, Mike dozing intermittently against Harvey’s chest, Harvey’s face buried in his hair. Both their tux pants are wrinkled when they get out of the car, and Harvey’s thighs are practically numb. He doesn’t care.

—

Keith Hoyt is an irritating if moderately welcome distraction. Mike seems happy to take the case, not least because the casino Harvey takes him to is one he’s banned from.

Harvey wakes up in the middle of the night to Mike standing in front of the hotel room mirror, turning this way and that in the golden light of the desk lamp. “What are you doing?”

“Inspecting the damage.” He twists again, and Harvey can see bruises on his hips, yellowy-purple, the print of Harvey’s fingers and thumbs.

“Come to bed,” Harvey murmurs. Mike sighs, but he does, sprawls over Harvey’s chest, tangles his legs with Harvey’s until neither one is sure where the other begins.

“You’re back early,” Donna remarks, when she sees them both at work Friday morning, preoccupied and sleep-rumpled.

“Case,” Mike replies distantly. He’s probably still doing math in his head.

Donna pins Harvey with a look that keeps him from following Mike into his office. “You’re working a _case_ on his birthday weekend?”

“Not on _purpose_ ,” Harvey mutters petulantly. And appropriately: Donna is glaring at him with her hands on her hips like his third grade teacher, Mrs Coe.

“Harvey,” she scolds, “this is what you do — with Ted Phillips, and Zoe Lawford, and Alex Williams—”

“It wasn’t _serious_ with Alex Williams, we were just—”

“—all of them had to litigate you into being in a relationship, Harvey. If you love someone, they shouldn’t have to sue you to get your attention.”

“It’s not like that, it’s just — he wanted to, okay? It was a lot.” He lowers his voice. “I told him.”

Donna’s eyes widen. “You…”

“I bit the bullet.”

Donna lets out a very undignified, very un-Donna squeal, and then clears her throat. “Well. Good.”

“You don’t want to know if he said it back?”

“I know he said it back, Harvey.” Donna’s eyes are soft. “I see how he looks at you.”

—

“Pick a card in your mind, any card,” Harvey says, when Mike balks at the idea of playing poker for Keith Hoyt’s company.

“Okay, what, you’re gonna tell me what the card is?”

“I’m gonna tell you what it isn’t. It’s not one of the fifty-two cards in a deck, because you think you’re smarter than me. It’s a football card, or a baseball card, or — it’s the joker."

Mike shifts a little.

“I told you this before, I’m gonna tell you again: I don’t play the odds, I play the man.”

“That was so hot,” Mike blurts, eyes blown. “Wait, that’s not what I meant. No, actually, that’s exactly what I meant.”

Harvey smirks.

—

“You think you can handle me?” Tommy Walsh asks, visibly radiating smugness even in the dimly-lit file room. He’s brought his lawyer with him, of course, because he can’t even cross the street without holding Daddy’s hand.

“Oh, I think I’ll be just fine,” Harvey replies, deliberately not looking at Mike as he does some complicated magician shuffle with the deck that really shouldn’t get him hard.

“’Cause this isn’t Sunday afternoon bridge with your grandmother.” _With ya grandmotha_ , a proper New Jersey man (i.e., trash).

“I don’t see how that’s an insult to a person.” Both Harvey and Walsh glance at Mike, who presses his lips together. “I’ll just keep dealing.”

Walsh shoves a couple of chips to the middle of the table. Harvey retaliates with his entire pot. “Who’s the grandmother now?”

“Better,” Mike nods approvingly.

Walsh looks at his lawyer, of course, of _course_. “He can’t help you. But I do know why you’re looking to him. See, I looked into _you._ You say you’re a self-made man. Your ex-wife had a different story when she told me why she left you. She said you had a chip on your shoulder, because everything you ever got came from Daddy. Now, you may not think that this is true anymore; you said it yourself you’re not an expert, but you do hire them, to run your companies, and fight your battles. Tonight, it’s you, me, and that stack of chips. Let’s play.”

Tommy Walsh smiles the slightest bit. “You think you can bait me into calling when you got me beat?” He tosses down his cards. “You’re gonna have to do better than that.”

“You’re right, Tommy, I do have you beat. But these shitty cards —” Harvey throws down his own cards, two of hearts and eight of clubs. “Have nothing to do with it.”

He takes back his chips. Helpfully, Mike scrapes the few that he misses to his side of the table.

The game is done in twenty minutes.

—

“Are you out of your goddamn mind?” Mike is gasping, cinching his legs tighter around Harvey’s waist.

Harvey briefly stops nibbling his ear to speak into it. “How fast did you want me to beat him?”

“That’s not — _ah_ — you know that’s not what I meant.” Mike makes short work of his tie — he is, after all, a quick study. “You just gambled with our client’s thirty-million-dollar company.”

“I _won_ our client’s thirty-million-dollar company.” Mike moans, high and tight. “I don’t get it, is this you complaining?”

“Goddamn cocky bastard,” he grunts, and this time when he goes for his belt Harvey doesn’t stop him.

Mike’s brain, since Harvey met him, has revealed itself to be a kind of perpetual motion machine, whirring away constantly; it translates to the rest of him, tapping fingers and jiggling legs and furious scribbling, nodding away to the music in his head. But sometimes, if he pushes the right buttons, Harvey can get him to stop; blank his mind, go still in Harvey’s arms and just take it. He does that now, as Harvey gets a hand around his cock and another up under his shirt to scrape at a nipple. Shivers once, a full-body thing, and then stops moving but for the heaving of his chest and the roll of his hips into Harvey’s grip, steady, a hand in Harvey’s hair and another clutching his shoulder.

“Wait,” Mike chokes out, after a minute of panting into Harvey’s ear, _fuck_ , and _Jesus_ , and unintelligible but unmistakeable sounds of pleasure, “I want to see you, can I—”

He gropes clumsily at Harvey’s belt, only managing to get the buckle undone before Harvey takes over, undoing his fly and taking himself out. Mike sounds like he’s been punched in the gut.

Mike sweeps the table clean behind himself, cards and chips flying every which way, pulls Harvey down on top of him so that he can rut into the cradle of Mike’s hips as he jerks him off, slow but rhythmic, and Mike has always had this stripped-bareness about him, but when Harvey has him like this he loses any kind of dissemblance, cries and keens and moans ragged in Harvey’s ear, _feels so good_ and _want you_ and _Jesus_ , _you are so fucking sexy, fuck me, fuck me,_ a short and hoarse _uh, uh, Harvey_ , before he shoots all over his own chest.

Harvey follows suit almost immediately after. It’s so goddamn good. He knew it would be good, being with Mike, but it is so _goddamn fucking_ good.

Mike gives a whine of discomfort and reaches behind himself, coming up with a stray poker chip. They’re all over the floor, have probably rolled under shelves and tables and the copy machine in the corner. Harvey spends a moment longer breathing into the salt-slick nook of Mike’s shoulder, and then straightens, helping Mike sit up and catch his breath. “Where’s your jacket?”

“Upstairs,” he mumbles, fucked-out. A little distraught, he adds, “There’s come on my shirt.”

“Hence the jacket,” Harvey says, trying not to laugh at him. He leaves Mike to catch his breath and peel off his soiled shirt while he goes up to the bullpen. Mike’s jacket is slung over the back of his desk chair; when Harvey comes back, he’s on his hands and knees in his undershirt, feeling blindly underneath one of the shelves. Harvey says, “Already?” and he jumps, banging his head.

“Asshole,” he grumbles, sticking his arm back underneath the shelf and coming up with two cards and a green poker chip. “I wouldn’t let you fuck me in the file room.”

“You wouldn’t, or you won’t?”

“Semantics,” Mike mutters, fishing out several more cards.

Harvey raises an eyebrow. “You want to argue semantics with me, kid?”

Mike rolls onto his back, laughing. “I swear you’ll be the death of me.”

“Only the little death,” Harvey says, helping him to his feet. Mike laughs again, rubbing his eyes.

“Sorry,” he say, “sorry, just. This. You. My _life_.”

“Trust me,” Harvey says, tugging the jacket on directly over Mike’s undershirt. “I know the feeling.”

—

Donna is behind his desk instead of her own the next morning, stamping and signing documents in rapid succession. “Printed your Landau briefs for you,” she says to Mike. “Rachel’s already set up in the file room.” When Mike hands over her coffee, she whispers something in his ear that makes him cough and blush, and the two of them titter like schoolgirls for a minute.

Mike gives her a grateful kiss on the cheek, and Donna says, “I’m telling Nell you took liberties with her girlfriend.”

“Maybe you should stop taking liberties with mine,” Harvey says mildly. Donna and Mike exchange an indecipherable look, and then Mike wends his way around the desk to stand very, very close to Harvey and press something into his hand.

It’s a key. Harvey blinks at it, and then up at Mike.

“Annie and I are moving,” Mike says softly. “So I — I wanted you to have it.”

“Mike,” Harvey murmurs, because he doesn’t know what else to say.

“The hallway is clear,” Donna says delicately, eyes firmly on the paperwork she’s notarising.

Mike gives him a hopeful smile. Harvey says, “Thank you,” and they kiss, quick but gentle. It makes Harvey ache; he wants to be able to do this all the time, without the anxiety pressing in on his ribcage.

“Jessica!” Donna says, cheerful and deliberate, and Mike takes a generous step back. Harvey turns to see what she wants.

“It’s Louis,” Jessica says.

“Is he feeling left out? Because I promised I’d let him back into my office once he took care of the sausage aroma.”

“He had a heart attack in court this morning.”

None of them say anything except Donna, who barely manages, “Oh, my god.”

“He’s okay,” Jessica assures them, though the thin line of her lips would suggest otherwise. “I made a call, he’s got the best cardiologists at Mount Sinai, and they say he’s going to be fine."

“We should go see him,” Harvey says, finding his tongue.

“He told Norma he didn’t want anybody to come.”

“That means he’s embarrassed, but he wants me there,” Donna says, shaking herself. She smooths down her dress and takes a breath. “I’ll be back when I’m back,” she tells Harvey. Harvey only nods.

“We handle all his cases personally,” Jessica instructs them once Donna is gone. “Nothing with Louis’ name on it falls through the cracks. No client finds out this happened.”

“Done,” Harvey says, and Mike echoes him immediately after.

Jessica nods and turns to leave. “I’ll send him flowers from all of us.”

“No,” Harvey says, “he’s allergic.”

Mike frowns. “To flowers?”

“All of them?” Jessica adds, matching his expression.

“How do you even know that?”

“I used to send them to his desk every day when we were associates,” Harvey mumbles. Mike and Jessica are now wearing twin looks of reproof. “I know, I’m an asshole.”

After Jessica leaves, Mike says, “I can’t believe I gave you a key to my apartment.”

“It’s not my fault you fell in love with me.”

“I reject that out of hand.”

Harvey smiles, but it’s tense. Mike sighs, and says, “I need to do those Landau briefs. And take a piss. And call my kid.” He touches Harvey’s arm on the way out, murmurs, “I wish I could kiss you again,” but doesn’t. Instead, he just says, “See you at home.”

—

When Harvey sees Mike again, he’s blubbering like a baby in Conference Room B.

“Whoa, hey, what’s up?” Harvey asks, rushing in kneel beside him and put a steadying hand on his back. “Mike, what’s going on? Is it Annie?”

Mike shakes his head, and lets out a few more ugly, gasping sobs before he calms himself to sniffles. “I can’t be your associate anymore,” he says thickly.

The world stops spinning, and then starts up again at double the speed. “What are you talking about?”

“Jonathan Sidwell came by asking me how to get out of his noncompete.” Sidwell works for Gianopolous Industries, one of Louis’ clients Jessica assigned to Mike. Harvey’s only ever exchanged pleasantries with him. “He said — he said he felt trapped, and that I wouldn’t understand, because my whole future’s laid out for me. But it isn’t, Harvey, I’ll never get to be a partner, or even a senior associate. Consultants don’t get to have that.”

“Nobody knows you’re a consultant.”

“But they will, eventually. When they all move up and I don’t. Most of them already think the only reason I got hired in the first place is because I’m your sugar baby.”

Harvey desperately wants to unpack that, but there’s no time; he can feel Mike slipping between his fingers, can’t fucking stand it. “They’ll still think that if you quit.”

“I’m not quitting. I just think I should live up to my job title. _Consult_.”

“You’re giving up,” Harvey says, accusatory, before he can stop himself.

“You don’t _understand_ , Harvey!” Mike takes a shaky breath. Mercifully, nobody has heard him shouting; at least, nobody curious enough to investigate. “I didn’t care, before, because I love my job, and I love working with you. I never thought I could hope for any more than that. But now I — I have to keep this, us, a secret, and I hate it. I hate it.”

“It won’t be forever,” Harvey says, aiming for comforting. “Just until—”

“Until I’m a partner? Until you no longer outrank me?” Mike laughs bitterly. “Keeping all these goddamn secrets — it rots you inside. Harvard. Annie. I know, at least, that she’s not going anywhere, but I — Louis almost _died_ , Harvey. I just keep losing people. Grammy, my parents, my sister, Trevor — I won’t lose you. And I can’t keep being afraid that I will.”

 _You won’t ever lose me_ , Harvey wants to promise. It’s a promise both of them know he can’t make. But he can make things easier. “Okay,” Harvey says, “okay.”

Mike still doesn’t kiss him, but he leans heavily on Harvey’s shoulder until his tears subside.

—

Mike gets his own office, about the same size as Rachel’s, and right next door. When Mike sees it, complete with his name and his new title — _LEGAL CONSULTANT_ — on the door, his breath seizes, and then he hugs Harvey so fiercely his feet leave the ground.

Harvey helps him set up, and then that evening drives to Williamsburg to load a metric shit-ton of cardboard boxes into his car, as well as Annie, who sits in the passenger with a crate of records in her lap, both of them complaining heartily about Mike’s staunch refusal to hire movers. Mike is already at the new apartment, the condo on 38th street he’d bought for Edith. He kisses Harvey at the door, smiling dopily; Annie makes an obligatory sound of disgust, and Harvey grabs her around the waist and lifts her off the ground, slobbering kisses all over her cheek as she kicks the air, shrieking. They have a house-warming party, just the three of them and a bottle of wine, ginger ale for Annie, surrounded by towers of cardboard boxes and bare white walls.

Harvey yawns prodigiously when he sees Donna the next morning, which she responds to with a deeply offended _tsk_. “Shut up,” he grumbles. “I was helping Mike move into his new apartment.”

“And christening it,” Donna says, nodding at his collar — Harvey slaps a hand to his neck, where the bruise Mike sucked into his skin throbs. “There is a reason I keep concealer in your shade, you know.” She tosses him the tube.

“Creep,” Harvey mutters, catching it and heading into his office where he won’t get strange looks.

“Slut,” she retorts over the intercom.

“Love you, Donna.”

“Sexual harassment!” She sings.

“You’re an asshole!” Harvey sings back.

“I love you too. Slut.”

—

Harvey is used to operating on very little sleep, but it’s been a while he’s come to work on time this consistently, and it’s taking its toll. Technically, he doesn’t have to be here, but he spent the night at Mike’s place and Mike _definitely_ has to be here; it’s his first day in the capacity of a legal consultant. And Harvey hadn’t wanted him to bike with his first-day jitters, so he’d called Ray an hour early and directed him to the Corinthian and now here he is, two coffees deep.

“I have someone here to see you,” Donna says at around eleven. Harvey sips his third coffee aggressively.

“Donna, I’m not in the mood to — oh, look who it is. Where the hell have you been?”

“Harvey, don’t be a dick, he had a heart attack,” Donna chastises, as Louis grins shit-eatingly.

“You think having a heart attack gives you the right to take the day off work?” Harvey asks, putting down his coffee so he can walk around his desk and take a proper look at Louis. He looks okay - good, even, colour in his cheeks, eyes bright and alert.

Louis steps forward and crushes him in a hug. “I’m alive,” he whispers, trembling.

 _Help me_ , Harvey mouths over his shoulder.

 _Hug him back_ , Donna mouths back.

Harvey reluctantly places his hands on Louis’ back. Louis squeezes.

Donna grins, smug as ever. “I’m gonna let you two be alone.”

“Not that I’m not enjoying this,” Harvey punches out against the distinct feeling of his ribs being rearranged, “but shouldn’t you be home?”

Mercifully, Louis releases him. “No! The doctor cleared me to come back. Sheila’s allowing me half days, the other half of the day… I’m at home planning my wedding.”

“You’re engaged?” Harvey remembers Sheila being mentioned, every now and then, most notably because Donna had found Louis in the women’s room sobbing her name violently. He had no idea they’d gotten back together, or that it was at all serious.

“It’s the happiest moment of my life,” Louis grins toothily.

“I’ll send my condolences to the bride-to-be,” Harvey quips, shocked and unsettled to find himself feeling strangely squishy inside, and only partly because Louis probably punctured several of his internal organs.

“That kind of sense of humour is exactly what I want in my best man.” He has so many _teeth_.

Harvey stalls. “Louis, are you asking me…”

“Harvey, before you answer — I’m sorry that I put Mike in a difficult position, and I know that jeopardised our friendship —”

“Louis—”

“Let me just finish. I haven’t ever been the greatest friend, or peer, to you, but—”

“I’d be honoured.”

Louis’ mouth closes, and then thins with stifled emotion. “Thank you, Harvey.”

“You’re welcome, Louis.”

“Harvey,” Louis adds, just as he’s leaving, “I know what’s going on with you and Mike, and I wanted to—”

Harvey’s blood runs cold. “What the hell are you—”

“No no no I think it’s _beautiful_ ,” Louis rushes out, holding his hands up. “I wanted to say, he’s very lucky to have you.”

Jesus Christ, this is Harvey’s _life_. “I honestly think you’ve got that backwards,” he admits.

“Well, Mike certainly doesn’t feel that way.” Louis sighs, shaking his head wistfully. “The way he looks at you, it’s — you can just tell, you know? It’s wonderful, Harvey. You deserve to be happy like Sheila and I are happy. And I’d be honoured to stand up for _you_ someday.”

“You’re right, you know,” Donna says, when Louis is out of earshot. “You’re very lucky to have him. Actually, you probably don’t deserve him.”

“I know,” Harvey mutters, sighing. “I’m working on it.”

“Louis was right, too,” Donna adds. “You deserve to be happy.”

—

Harvey’s new associate is _Kyle_. Kyle from _work_.

He’s Louis’ protegé — or he was, before Louis pushed him on Harvey as a gesture of solidarity, or something.

To be fair to Kyle, he isn’t completely incompetent. Just annoying.

“I know you miss Mike,” Donna says lowly, as Harvey glares daggers at the back of Kyle’s head, “but don’t take it out on your new chew toy.”

“He’s not my anything,” Harvey snaps, but concedes the point.

“Um, you and Mike,” Kyle hedges one morning, instantly banishing any of the goodwill he’d accrued. “I don’t mean to — sorry. I just. Thought you should know that I — know."

“Is that a threat?” Harvey growls.

“ _No_ ,” Kyle babbles, wide-eyed, “that’s not — I just mean that you don’t have to be, like, weird around me. About him. And with him.” He shrugs helplessly. “You’re just — you’re really lucky to have him.”

“Go prep for the Zhou deposition,” Harvey says thinly. “Go on. Scram.”

Kyle scrams. Only when he’s gone does Harvey let his head thump against his desk _._ “Why does everyone keep _doing_ that?”

Donna doesn’t stop cackling long enough to dignify him with a response.

—

“Everyone’s getting married,” Harvey grumbles, staring down at the cardstock invitation in his hand. _Together with their families, DONNA PAULSEN and JANELLE CHOI request the pleasure of your company at their marriage_. Donna, that wily bastard, sent both his and Mike’s invites to Mike’s address; Annie had brought them up from the mailroom and left them on the dining table for them to open, not hours after they’d received the e-vite to Louis’ engagement party.

Mike’s laugh sounds from the kitchen where he’s making stir-fry for dinner. It’s Annie’s night, but Annie is in her room rehearsing lines for her last ever school production before she graduates. “Would you rather he’d died?”

“You know what I mean.”

Mike appears in the kitchen doorway, leaning against the frame. “I guess they’re all just realising they’re ready. You know Jenny and Rachel got engaged two days after they met?”

Harvey shudders. “Jesus.”

“I mean, not _engaged_ engaged, but — they both knew. They bought rings on their third date, just as a promise.” Mike shrugs. “People are ready when they’re ready.”

Harvey looks away from him. “I guess.”

—

Rachel and Jenny are married in Central Park, haloed by Gapstow Bridge. The cold is biting, but neither of them seem to care, Rachel in a strapless white dress with gold accents at the waist and Jenny in a swishy lace skirt and a high-collared blouse borrowed from Donna. It’s a short, simple affair, less than twenty people — Jenny’s father died a few years ago, but her mother and stepfather are there, along with her three half-brothers, the oldest of whom is her best man, his wheelchair decorated with lilac streamers to match Jenny’s bouquet; her college roommate, her best friend from her old job, and Stan and Kevin Jacobson-Holt. Harvey can see why Rachel found it difficult to round up enough people for her own side; standing to his left is Donna, acting as maid of honour, and to his right Louis, weeping tremendously, and Annie, patting Louis shoulder and handing him tissues periodically. Sheila Sazs, as Louis’ plus one, Jessica, wearing stilettos on the grass, Rachel’s parents, Robert and Laura Zane, whom Harvey hasn’t seen in over a decade, and Benjamin, who is doubling as the wedding photographer, and has purportedly been both Pearson Hardman’s IT guy and Rachel and Mike’s friend for quite a while.

Mike gives the _Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today_ speech from all the movies — by heart, of course — and everybody forever holds their peace because there’s nobody at the wedding that isn’t in the actual wedding party. There are tears, and poetry, and Mike barely starts on the vows — “Do you, Rachel Elizabeth Zane—” before Rachel is interrupting him with, “I do.”

Donna snorts, and then clears her throat to cover it up. “Sorry,” Rachel says, “I just — didn’t want to wait.”

“No problem,” Mike says uncertainly. “Uh, do you, J—”

“Sorry, can I just — can I just say it?” At Mike’s bewildered nod, Jenny breathes, “I do,” and Rachel presses a hand to her mouth, tears spilling down her cheeks.

“By the power vested in me by the State of New York I pronounce you wife and wife you may now kiss the bride,” Mike says all at once, lest he be interrupted again. Rachel and Jenny kiss, and Benjamin’s camera goes off several times in a row.

“We’re married,” Jenny gasps, Rachel’s face still cradled in her hands. “Oh, my god, we did it.”

“We’re married,” Rachel echoes. Their faces are flushed with emotion and the stinging New York wind.

Thankfully, the reception is inside; Donna has pushed all the furniture in her living room up against the wall, leaving a sizeable space for drinks and dancing. They all bundle in, shivering, except for Mike, who stops at the door to announce, “I present to you, Mrs Jenny Griffith and Mrs Rachel Zane,” and everybody whoops and cheers as the newlyweds step out from behind him, smiling shyly, fingers intertwined. Rachel and Jenny’s first dance is to _Can’t Help Falling In Love_ , and then there’s the father-daughter dance to a song Harvey doesn’t recognise, and then everybody is invited to onto the floor. Nell is there, though she hadn’t been at the wedding, handing out champagne flutes and napkins and corralling an overly-emotional Louis into sitting down and take a glass of water. She smiles at him when they make eye contact, and approaches him with a fresh drink to replace his dwindling one.

“Having fun?” She asks, bumping his shoulder amicably.

Harvey gives her a bland look; she laughs. “Is Louis?”

“He’s fine,” she says, shaking her head fondly. “He’s just happy he gets to be alive to see this, you know?”

Harvey clinks his glass against hers. “I’ll drink to that.”

Mike talks him into a dance — “Just one dance, Harvey,” and when he smiles like that, Harvey can’t tell him no. They’ve never done this, in a room full of people, stood so close and touched so deliberately and talked in low, intimate voices so that nobody else can hear. _Stay with me_ , Stevie Nicks croons, _sta-ay_.

They’re moving so slowly there’s no danger of Mike stepping on his toes. Harvey pulls him closer with the hand on the small of his back, and they’re breathing, taking each other in. Mike pushes their foreheads together, and the whole room narrows to him, his hand on Harvey’s shoulder, his fingers between Harvey’s fingers. Nothing is broken, or exploding, or ruined; they’re just two people, dancing, kissing without kissing.

“People will say we’re in love,” Mike murmurs. It makes Harvey laugh.

“Closer, please,” he says, tugging him in so they’re pressed together from chest to hips. 

“Yeah? How close?” Mike asks, low and dangerous. Harvey wants to leave, _now_ , but that would be impolite and Mike would never allow it.

The song ends, and Mike goes off to do his duties as officiant. Annie joins Harvey where he’s leaning against the wall, looking overwhelmed but happy. Harvey sees Mike and Donna conversing with Jenny and Rachel in the corner, and then Donna cuts the music and Mike says, “Um, I’m afraid Mrs Griffith and Zane have decided to call it a night.”

There are groans and boos, but they’re jokey, light-hearted. Jenny smiles at them, and Rachel smiles at Jenny, both of them still holding hands.

“We think there’s no point wasting a good party,” Jenny says, “so we have an announcement to make.”

“Shotgun wedding, fifty bucks,” Harvey murmurs. Annie elbows him.

But it isn’t a pregnancy announcement; it’s Donna and Nell, jostling their way to the front of the crowd and saying, “We’re getting married!”

Harvey thought the invitations had already gone out, but apparently not all of them, because cheers abound, and Louis resumes his bawling. Rachel and Jenny say their goodbyes; Jenny shakes Harvey’s hand in both of hers, and Rachel hugs him unexpectedly, arms around his neck.

“Thank you,” she says, looking a little embarrassed afterwards.

“I wouldn’t have missed it for the world,” Harvey tells her, and means it.

Rachel and Jenny and their family file out the door, waving and chattering noisily; Annie lets out a long breath after they’re gone, and goes to sit by Louis, rubbing his back consolingly. Jessica takes her spot next to Harvey, raising her glass; Harvey realises they haven’t spoken all night.

“Okay?” He asks her.

She nods slowly. “Okay. You?”

“Okay,” Harvey says, and he means that, too.

—

“What was that thing you said at the wedding?”

Mike glances over at him; Harvey looks away briefly to focus on the road. Annie had passed out on the couch at the wedding-reception-turned-engagement-party and Nell insisted they leave her be, so they’re driving back to Harvey’s place now, just the two of them. Well, Harvey is driving. Mike is mostly gazing out the window, contemplative.

“The poetry,” Harvey elaborates. “That Rachel and Jenny wanted you to say, before the vows.”

Mike smiles faintly, remembering. “ _Tell me how all this, and love too, will ruin us. These, our bodies possessed by light. Tell me we’ll never get used to it_.”

“Yeah,” Harvey says, mouth dry. “That.”

“Richard Siken,” Mike explains. “Annie likes him. Gave Rachel one of his collections when she started seeing Jenny.”

So strange, that kid, and how they all seem to touch each other’s lives, however unremarkably. Though nothing about Annie is unremarkable.

Mike recites, almost a whisper, “ _You’re in the car with a beautiful boy, and he won’t tell you that he loves you, but he loves you. And you feel like you’ve done something terrible, like robbed a liquor store, or swallowed pills, or shovelled yourself a grave in the dirt, and you’re tired._ ” He carries on, in Harvey’s ear, as Harvey presses him against the window of his apartment, “ _You’re in a car with a beautiful boy, and you’re trying not to tell him that you love him_ ,” as Harvey undresses him piece by piece and lays him down gently on the bed like a precious thing, “ _and you’re trying to choke down the feeling, and you’re trembling_ ,” as Harvey pushes in with his fingers, kisses his throat and collarbone, “ _but he reaches over and touches you, like a prayer for which no words exist_ ,” and finally, as Harvey slides in, Mike breaks off in a gasp and anchors a hand in his hair. “ _And you feel your heart taking root in your body, like you’ve discovered something you didn't even have a name for_.”

—

Two days later, they’re all huddled outside the Lincoln Centre, waiting to be let in to Annie’s senior year production of _Beetlejuice_. Harvey knew Donna would come, and by extension Nell, but Louis is there too, and Sheila, looking severe and unflappable as ever, Rachel and Jenny and Jessica goddamn Pearson, scuffing her Louboutins on the sidewalk as she waits to be let into a high school play. Harvey wants to ask, to rib her about it, but he remembers Jessica and Annie hugging in the courtroom and says nothing.

They take up an entire row of seats, the lot of them. Annie is playing Miss Argentina, so she doesn’t come on for a while, but when she does Jessica puts two fingers in her mouth and whistles sharply, startling the hell out of everyone around her. Louis looks like he wants to lecture her about the sanctity of theatre, but nobody would dare lecture Jessica Pearson about anything; anyway, the whistle is mostly lost in the roar of applause. Harvey’s never heard Annie sing properly, but he isn’t surprised to find that her voice is brilliant, throaty and full and shocking for her five feet and four inches. Mike looks proud to bursting; when Annie takes her bow, Harvey hears him sniffing.

“Harvey!” Annie grins, when he and Mike go to collect her backstage, holding a single rose.

“What am I, chopped liver?” Mike grouses. Annie rolls her eyes at him, and leaves a lipsticky kiss on his cheek.

“Harvey owes me fifty bucks,” she explains, cheeky, and it’s Harvey’s turn to roll his eyes.

“Ananya,” someone calls, and one of the ghosts, Barbara, is running up to them, heels dangling by the straps from her left hand. “Hey, Ananya, are you — oh, sorry, are these your parents?”

“Um,” Annie says, looking like she’s trying to do algebraic functions in her head, and then, “yes, uh. This is Dylan, she plays Barbara Maitland. Played.”

“Nice to meet you, Mr Ross,” Dylan says, nodding at both of them. Harvey nods back, hoping his smile isn’t as manic as it feels. “My mom wants to take a picture, is that okay?”

“Sure,” Annie says, looking relieved; she’s still in her Miss Argentina getup, wig and all. “I’ll be back in a second.”

Mike watches her go silently. “I resent the implication that I would take your last name,” Harvey says.

Mike relaxes. “You mean you wouldn’t?”

“Would you take mine?”

“Fuck no,” Mike snorts. “Michael Specter makes sounds like a made-for-TV movie villain.”

“Harvey Ross sounds like an octogenarian,” Harvey counters.

“That’s because nobody under eighty is named Harvey.”

Harvey wants to make a joke about how Mike has no qualms about his name or age when they’re in private, but they _are_ in a school. Annie comes back, and Mike wants to take a picture of her with Harvey, so they do that, and then meet everyone else outside in the freezing night. They go to Lombardi’s, which turns out to be the Italian place Mike used to deliver for, and sit around a table eating pizza and talking over each other. Jessica and Sheila are having a very intent discussion of their own, and everyone else is arguing about Shakespeare, or something, with Jenny doing her best to moderate before they get kicked out. Mike hooks his ankle around Harvey’s under the table.

Suddenly, exhilaratingly, Harvey realises they don’t have to hide anymore. He leans over and kisses Mike squarely on the mouth.

“What was that for?” Mike asks, but Harvey can tell he’s pleased. The waiter comes by to top up their wine glasses, and Louis raises his in a toast.

“To Ananya Ross!” He pronounces loudly. Harvey thinks maybe the waiter should have skipped him. “The greatest Miss Argentina to have ever graced the stage!”

“Hear, hear,” Jessica says wryly.

“And the best wedding planner in New York,” Jenny adds, raising her own glass.

Annie looks mortified, but she’s smiling. She raises her lemonade, straw bobbing. “To family,” she says.

They all drink to that.

—

Harvey makes name partner.

He finds out the night of Annie’s graduation dinner; they’re all in Mike apartment, this time, still drinking and talking in that chaotic way they seem to fall into when they’re all together. Annie comes up to him at the table and proffers a thick wad of blue cloth.

“I’m…not cold?”

“I thought about what you said,” Annie says quietly. “About how I could go anywhere. And I decided I still love New York City, but I deserve the best it has to offer.” She nods at the wad of cloth; Harvey unrolls it. COLUMBIA EST. 1754 is printed on the front.

“Oh, holy shit,” Harvey says, staring.

“That’s what I said,” Annie says, still quietly, though excitement is welling in her voice. “Scholarship. Full ride.”

“Holy _shit_ , Annie,” Harvey says, standing up to hug her and pull on the sweatshirt.

He’s still wearing the sweatshirt when Jessica hands him a business card; it’s his own business card, except at the top it says _PEARSON SPECTER_.

“Holy shit,” Harvey says, for the nth time that night.

“Thought you might like that,” Jessica comments, smiling warmly.

So Harvey makes name partner. And because it’s Harvey, bad news comes on the heels of it.

“I’m moving to Chicago,” Jessica says softly. It makes sense, suddenly, her recent touchy-feely-ness, all the bonding she’s been doing. Heels on the grass at a paralegal’s wedding, waiting in line to see a high school play starring a kid that isn’t hers. Dancing to Madonna with Louis Litt. Eating pizza in public.

Harvey feels like he’s been shot.

“I met someone,” Jessica continues, her eyebrows furrowing like she’s feeling his pain. “And I think it’s time.”

“Everything okay?” Mike’s voice, cautious, his hand on Harvey’s elbow.

“You,” Jessica says, not angrily, though Mike looks terrified. “You’ve taught me an awful lot, Mr Ross.”

“Uh,” Mike blurts, “I think that’s supposed to be the other way around.”

“One would think.” Jessica shakes her head. “I’m moving to Chicago, to apply everything I’ve learnt.” She smiles again. “About family, and such.”

“You’re moving to Chicago, as in… to _Chicago_?”

Jessica looks down at him, a comfortingly familiar expression. “There is no version of moving to Chicago that doesn’t involve Chicago itself.”

“Your family is here,” Harvey says numbly. “In this room.”

“I know, Harvey,” she murmurs, touching his shoulder. “But there are bridges I regret burning. I have to at least try to rebuild them.”

Harvey hugs her, hard and tight. She hugs him back, her shoulders shaking slightly.

“You know, I’ll need someone to run things around here when I’m gone,” she says, swiping at her eyes, tapping the business card. Harvey had forgotten all about it. He looks down, at _PEARSON SPECTER_ , and then at his name; underneath it, small enough that he’d missed it the first time, _MANAGING PARTNER_.

 _Holy shit_. “This is getting a little old,” he says tiredly.

“He means thank you,” Mike says. Then: “You can’t run the place yourself, you know.”

Jessica hums in agreement as Harvey says, “Who says I can’t run the place myself?”

“Harvey.” Mike says it so much like Jessica would, it’s a little uncanny.

“Well, what do you want me to — oh, no.”

“ _Harvey_.” That is actually Jessica this time. Harvey glances at the both of them, staring him down. He always imagined, if they ever tried to tag-team him, he’d have a lot more fun.

“You know he deserves it as much as you do,” Mike says.

“Fine,” Harvey relents with a groan. “Get me a pen.”

—

Harvey refuses to take her name off the letterhead. Won’t do that to her, is surprised when Louis agrees vehemently.

The news about Pearson Specter Litt goes out that very morning. People call all day, to congratulate them, to brown-nose.

 _Can I get a call back from a managing partner_ , Marcus texts him.

 _I call you_ , Harvey texts back, like always.

_Proud of you, boss man._

_Sycophant_.

Annie emails him the photo Mike took of them the night of her play, both of them smiling and squinting against the flash. The subject line reads _congratulations!!!!_ In the body, she’s written, _it’s not miss argentina, but i guess it’s up there_.

Harvey forwards the email to Donna to print out, and goes back to fielding calls.

Mike knocks on his door at noon. “Want to take your lunch hour now?”

“Associates don’t get lunch hours,” Harvey responds out of reflex.

“No,” Mike grins, “but consultants do.”

Mike takes him to a diner about four blocks away, far enough from the firm that they won’t have to rub elbows with their coworkers. Two blocks in, Mike starts laughing.

“Do you need to sit down?” Harvey asks, concerned.

“No, it’s just—” Mike dissolves into laughter again, scrubs at his face with a gloved hand. “When I started working at Pearson Hardman, everybody was convinced I some kind of kept man. And now I’ve quit the associate programme to be with you for real, and nobody’s going to believe me.”

“I didn’t hire you just because I thought you were pretty.”

“That didn’t stop everyone from thinking that we were sleeping together.”

“We _are_ sleeping together.”

“That’s not the point, Harvey,” Mike says tolerantly. He gives him a sidelong look. “You thought I was pretty?”

Harvey kisses him, right there on the sidewalk in front of some hipster cafe advertising gluten-free cocoa. Mike’s lips are winter-chapped. He smiles, perfect and radiant.

“You know Kyle gave me his blessing,” Harvey says, and Mike loses it all over again.

—

Seeing Scottie always feels a little bit like being struck by lightning, that cold shock. Her hair is short, now, cropped to her chin, and the rock on her left hand is blinding.

“How’s married life?” Harvey asks.

“Do you really care?” She asks back. She knows him, still.

“What do you want, Scottie?”

“It’s not about what I want,” Scottie says, “it’s about what I have.”

Bakersfield. Harvey’s been working on the case for months; it’s high profile enough that he can bring in Mike to consult on it without Jessica shooting him suspicious looks every time she walks by.

“Why don’t I just give it all to you,” Harvey says, laughing, because it’s still good to see her, the same old Scottie. “My cases, my office, my wallet, my keys—”

“It’s not personal,” Scottie says, laughing too, “it’s just business.”

“Yeah, my business.”

“ _Good_ business.” When he doesn’t budge, Scottie sighs. “Look, the last time I was here, I lost to you. This time, if I beat you, I get my name on the door.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

She shakes her head, not understanding.

“If this was really about getting your name on the door,” Harvey says, because _he_ knows _her_ , still, “you wouldn’t have told me that. It’s never the whole story with you, Scottie. So what’s the rest of it?”

“Harvey?

Harvey turns, disoriented. “What — Annie? What are you doing here?”

“Mike called me,” Annie says, eyeing Scottie warily. “He said — to come find you.”

Harvey is about to tell her to go wait in his office, that he’ll be by as soon as he can, when Scottie says, on an exhale, “Annie.”

Annie stiffens. “Who the fuck are you?”

—

Scottie’s Viyan is Viyan Shankar, as in _Annie’s father_ Viyan Shankar. Harvey should have known, God.

Viyan Shankar is sitting opposite Annie now, drinking her in, eyes searching every part of her face. They look so much alike, far more than her and Mike; the same bone structure, the same sweeping lashes, doe eyes, plump mouth. 

“You did it,” Annie says, breaking the laden silence. “You're a lawyer.”

“I — yes,” Viyan says, painfully British. “And you…”

Annie laughs bitterly. “You don’t know a thing about me.”

Viyan glances at Harvey. Harvey stands, grips the back of Annie’s chair. “I should let you talk.”

“No,” Annie says immediately. “Stay.”

“Ananya,” Viyan says, almost scolding.

“I want him to stay.”

“This is family!”

“That’s why he stays!”

Slowly, Harvey sits back down. Without thinking, he puts his hand palm up on the table for Annie; she grabs it, twining their fingers. Viyan watches them, expression unreadable.

“Listen to me,” Annie says, remarkably calm. “I know it was hard for you when Annabelle died. But I didn’t ask to be born. You did that. You signed up to be a father, and when you do that, you sign up to stick around through the bad shit. Sometimes bad shit happens! Okay? I lost my mom, too. And Mike lost his sister, and his _parents_ , and Harvard — he gave up everything for me, even though he didn’t have to. And when we lost Grammy, he stuck around through that, as well. Don’t fucking talk to me about family.”

“Edith died?”

Annie smacks the table with her free hand. “Jesus fucking Christ.”

“Watch your mouth.”

“ _Fuck_ you.” Angry, now, squeezing Harvey’s hand so hard her knuckles pale. “You don’t just get to — to come back into my life after fifteen years and tell me what to do and act like — like a dad. You are not a father. Do you understand? You forfeited that when you left.” She lets go of Harvey’s hand to scrub at her face. “I mourned you, with my mother, and I moved on a long time ago. Why the hell did you come back?”

“My father was a child during the war,” Viyan says softly. “So he grew up a pacifist. He went to medical school to save lives. I wanted to be just like him. And when I couldn’t save your mother, it wasn’t that I’d just failed her, or you, it was — my father’s legacy. And I couldn’t face that.”

“Is that meant to be an excuse?”

“No. It’s just a story about my daddy.”

For the first time, Annie smiles, small but genuine. “Mississippi Burning.”

“Mike told me,” Viyan says, in that same soft voice. “You’re such an intelligent girl, Ananya. And — and so kind.”

“No thanks to you,” Annie says, dry. “I like Dana. And I’m glad that you’re not in pain anymore, and that you’ve been able to heal from — from what happened. But you don’t just get to come here and clear your conscience. You mean nothing to me, and I’m not saying that because I’m angry. I haven’t been angry for a while. I just have no idea who you are.”

“Give me a chance,” Viyan says, and he has the same cleft between his eyebrows that Annie gets when she feels helpless. “Let me show you.”

“I’m sorry,” Annie says, levelly but not meanly. “I just really don’t have the time.” She looks to Harvey. “Can we go home?”

“Of course,” Harvey says. Neither of them look at Viyan on the way out.

—

Annie cries for maybe half an hour on the brand new couch of Mike’s apartment. Harvey sits with her until the tears subside and she says, beaten, “I hate this.”

Harvey lets Scottie have Bakersfield. She can have all forty-five cases in the suit, for all he cares.

He spends the afternoon bingeing all the movies on Mike’s Netflix queue with Annie, neither of them speaking, though he makes her drink two glasses of water. She falls asleep against his chest halfway into _Dr No_ , breathing shallowly through her mouth. Mike calls him, making her shift in her sleep; Harvey declines it and texts him instead. _Sorry, Annie’s asleep._

_Shit. She saw him?_

_Yes. I took her home._

_Thanks._

_Love you_ , Harvey replies, but he doesn’t hear back.

When Annie wakes up, she blinks, sniffs, and says, “Okay. I’m okay now.”

“I admire your courage, Miss Trench,” Harvey murmurs.

Annie smiles weakly. Her eyes are puffy from crying.

—

Mike comes home in the middle of the night with a split lip.

“Jesus, what happened?” Harvey near yells. Annie is asleep in her bedroom, exhausted from crying and her medication.

“It’s nothing,” Mike mutters, a little distorted around the lip.

“Did he hit you?” Harvey demands, guiding him to the couch.

“ _No_ ,” Mike tries to scoff, “I biked into something.”

“What?”

“Tree, pole. Whatever.”

“Are you _drunk?_ ”

“ _No_ ,” Mike parrots, twice as vehement. “I just — went for a ride. I needed to clear my head.”

“Stay there,” Harvey orders tersely. Mike doesn’t have ice packs, of course, so he gathers some ice in a hand towel and returns to the living room. Mike is poking at his lip gingerly, wincing when he gets at the split skin.

“Annie’s asleep,” Harvey says shortly.

“Good,” Mike nods, and starts crying.

“The pair of you,” Harvey sighs, rubbing Mike’s back until his breathing evens. He touches the ice to Mike’s lip, flinching when he flinches.

“He just comes back,” Mike mumbles, “just, demanding to see her, after fifteen years of radio silence, and I said no, not yet, she won’t deal well with — whatever. Such a colossal shift in her universe. And he just fucking _comes back_ saying I’m her father, it’s my right, I’m her father.” Mike sniffs enormously. “She’s been my kid her whole life and it’s like — like, no matter what I do, I’ll always be missing something.”

“He’s not her father,” Harvey says. “You adopted her — and beyond that, you’ve been her dad, and her best friend, and her — everything else. You know she tells people you’re her whole world? I highly doubt the small matter of biology is going to get in the way of that.”

Mike snorts. “No. She wouldn’t let it. Stubborn ass.”

“Hey, you raised her,” Harvey points out, which makes him snort again, and then grow abruptly serious.

“I got an offer to run a firm in Seattle.”

Harvey pulls the ice away from Mike’s lip, the towel dripping onto his thigh. “So?”

“So I want to take it.”

“Fuck.”

“Harvey,” Mike says, pleading, following him to the kitchen where Harvey wrings out the towel and lets it _thwap_ wetly onto the counter. “Listen to me.”

“Listen to what?” Harvey spits. “Your _it’s not you it’s me_ speech? No thanks.”

“It’s not you _or_ me.” Mike grabs Harvey hands, presses them to the sides of his own face. “Look at me. I would have to go to Seattle for a few months, set up our base of operations, but I’d run things from here. And fly out every few years, but you go on business trips all the time. _Harvey_. Look at me.”

Harvey looks at him.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“You’re going to Seattle.”

“For a few months.”

“I don’t want you to _leave_ ,” Harvey cries, angered by his own wretchedness. “Everybody fucking leaves — Jessica, my mother, Rachel, Donna—”

“Donna’s not leaving.”

“She’s getting married.”

Mike takes a controlled, calming breath. “Nobody’s life will ever be completely about you, Harvey.”

“Nonsense,” Harvey sniffs pathetically. “That’s what associates are for.”

That gets a laugh. “My life was never totally about you, you know that now. And neither is Kyle’s.”

Harvey scoffs. Mike rolls his eyes fondly.

“I think he’s seeing someone. And his aunt and uncle live upstate, he visits them at the end of every month.”

“The less I know about Kyle the better,” Harvey tells him.

“The point I’m trying to make,” Mike pushes on, “is that everyone in your life is a whole person, Harvey. They have lives of their own. And maybe instead of whining about not being the centre of attention all the goddamn time, you should count yourself lucky that they’ve made room for you at all.”

“That’s not what this is about.”

“That’s exactly what this is about,” Mike counters. “You think Donna getting married is her _leaving_ you? She’s finally found someone who understands how important her job is, how entangled she is with you, and who wants to stick around anyway. You should be happy for her. You should be fucking _grateful_.”

“I am,” Harvey says, but it’s feeble.

“I’ve lost people, too,” Mike says, softening, “and I’m never the one leaving. Tell me I won’t lose you.”

They’re back here, again, at these crossroads. Harvey only wants them to be on the same side. “Okay,” he says, a well-worn concession, “okay.”

—

Harvey takes Mike as his date to the gala being held to celebrate the inauguration of both Pearson Specter Litt and Darby Scott — because Scottie won her case, of course, and her name is on the door. Viyan is conspicuously absent from the event; Scottie isn’t, and Harvey gives her a grateful nod when they meet eyes.

He can’t help but think it’s a kind of last hurrah, for him and Mike, even though Mike is coming back, he _knows_ Mike is coming back. But when he does, everything will be different.

“Are you showing me off?” Mike asks, smirking, as if he’s reading Harvey’s mind.

“What if I am?” Harvey smirks back. “It’s my right.”

“I’m not your property, Harvey.”

“Shame,” Harvey murmurs, his lips against the shell of Mike’s ear. “I would be so good to you.”

Mike shivers, a full-body thing, and it’s still thrilling, to Harvey, that he can do that. He wants to keep at it, but Jessica is gliding towards them, laden with alcohol.

“You’re not in Chicago,” Mike observes.

“There’s that outstanding eye for detail we pay you for,” Jessica says, handing him a flute of champagne. To Harvey, she says, “You didn’t tell him I was coming?”

“Didn’t want to scare him off,” Harvey says.

“He’s actually really upset that you’re leaving so he’s avoiding the subject entirely,” Mike informs her.

“I know.” Jessica arches an eyebrow. “Kid, who do you think translated all of his repressed bullshit before he met you?”

Harvey opens his mouth to defend himself, but Jessica spots someone in a throng of people and slips away.

“I am not repressed,” Harvey mutters.

“Harvey, bearing in mind that I’m in love with you,” Mike says seriously, “you are so full of shit.”

This time, Harvey’s protests are interrupted by Scottie approaching them on the arm of a pudgy old man bearing a striking resemblance to a boiled egg.

“The man himself!” The boiled egg exclaims. He holds out a hand. “Edward Darby.”

Mike’s eyes grow very wide. “As in Darby Scott?”

Harvey wants to leave it at that, but Scottie is giving him her patented _please for my sake dredge up those Harvard-instilled social niceties from the bottom of the deep dark pit where your soul should be_ glare. (They’ve known each other long enough that she understands the necessity of cultivating such an expression; Jessica has one of her own.)

“He doesn’t seem stodgy at all,” Harvey says, glancing at Scottie as he gives Edward Darby a smile that hopefully conveys _yes of course I know exactly who you are_. “Or that old.”

“You should see me in my altogether,” Darby says, deadpan.

Mike snorts into his champagne. “Pass,” Harvey says, stifling a laugh of his own.

Darby smiles magnanimously. “Fair enough.”

“We just wanted to say thank you,” Scottie says, smiling tightly.

“Oh, of course!” Darby says, as if he’s just remembered. “Bakersfield! Do tell.”

Next to Harvey, Mike goes rigid.

“I could use another drink,” Scottie says quickly. “Why don’t we let the boys talk shop, hm?”

It takes Harvey a second to realise she’s talking to Mike, who nods, takes Harvey’s glass, and walks away mumbling something about getting him a refill. That leaves him with Edward Darby, discussing a case he barely remembers the bones of; any time someone mentions Bakersfield all Harvey can think about is the bastard that reduced the entire Ross family to tears. Darby must mistake his awkwardness for boredom, because he says, halfway through a rant about financials, “Oh, I understand. I hate talking numbers. I much prefer raking them in.”

Harvey gives him a winning smile, relieved for the out. Just then, Mike and Scottie return with two tumblers of scotch each; Mike passes one to Harvey, and Scottie to Darby. They grin at each other conspiratorially.

“And you are?” Darby is asking Mike. Harvey shoots Jessica a frantic _911_ text.

“Mike Ross,” Mike says, extending his scotch-free hand. Darby, to everybody’s amusement but Mike’s, kisses it.

“Edward!” Jessica swans out of the crowd, regal as ever. Harvey tries not to sigh audibly. “I see you’ve met my predecessor. And my consultant!”

Darby smiles slyly. “Well, if I’ve what I’ve heard it true, Jessica Pearson doesn’t need a consultant.”

Harvey shoots Scottie a look. Scottie gives him a minuscule shrug, looking like she’s one second from bursting into either tears or laughter.

Mike looks much the same. “I work for the firm. I consult where I’m needed.”

“Well, we all need a little help sometimes,” Darby says agreeably.

“Including the infallible Harvey Specter,” Jessica adds sweetly.

“No,” Darby jokes, irritatingly amiable.

“I make him do my paperwork,” Harvey says, taking a much-needed swig from his glass.

“Lots of briefs,” Mike agrees.

Harvey chokes on his scotch. Jessica leans over to beat him soundly on the back.

“The occasional merger,” Mike continues, straight-faced. “If I’m lucky.”

“Mike does all manner of work for the firm,” Jessica says pleasantly.

“For the firm,” Mike nods.

Darby smiles indulgently. “Well, I’ll leave you be. Just so nice to put a face to all this. And what a lovely face it is,” he adds, taking Jessica’s hands.

“Why, thank you, Edward,” Jessica smiles back.

“I was referring to your consultant,” Darby says, and they all laugh, and then he waddles off with Scottie in tow.

“ _You should see me in my altogether_ ,” Harvey waffles.

“Behave, Harvey,” Jessica scolds, but she’s still smiling.

Behind them, a voice says, “What’s up, Austin Powers?”

It’s Annie, in a long-sleeved, dark red dress, accompanied by Kyle Durant, who waves awkwardly at them.

“You clean up nice, Miss Ross,” Jessica nods approvingly. 

“Oh, no,” Harvey says to Mike, “there’s two of them.”

“I wanna be just like you,” Annie says to Jessica. “I figure all I need is a lobotomy and some tights.”

Kyle looks _aghast_. Jessica snorts, uncharacteristically juvenile. “Don’t mess with the bull, young lady, you’ll get the horns.”

“I think, um, I need another drink,” Kyle stammers. Mike, to Harvey’s dismay, insists on accompanying him.

Jessica and Annie are discussing something about diversity candidates; Harvey tunes out, watches Annie talk with her whole body, hands flying this way and that. Jessica has never been like that, as far as Harvey can remember, always a demure and composed conversationalist, but maybe she was, some years ago, young and impassioned and in danger of knocking a drink out of someone else’s hands at any given moment. Jessica has drive, a deadly, calculated sort of ambition, but the way Annie talks, untouched by false social graces and corporate doublespeak, you can tell she believes every word she’s saying.

Maybe Harvey has met Annie’s father, but he doesn’t know how anyone could mistake her for anything but Mike Ross’ kid.

—

Annie does not stop talking all the way up to Harvey’s place.

“You live _here_?” She goggles, spinning dazedly in the centre of the lobby. “Why am I surprised by that? You have a private elevator? A glass elevator? A _private_ _glass_ elevator? Don’t you have a front door? Of course not, you’re too rich for front doors.”

Harvey stifles a laugh. “I have a front door,” he assures. “This is just for me, and a very select few.” He makes a mental note to get Scottie’s name removed from the list.

“Well, Mr Specter,” Annie says, dropping down on his admittedly luxurious couch, “it’s an honour.”

Harvey chuckles. “The only reason people are nice to me is because I have more money than God.”

“You’re not crazy, you’ve just been in a very bad mood for forty years,” Annie nods. “I can’t believe Harvey hyper-masculine Specter has seen _Steel Magnolias_.”

“Excuse you, I am very in touch with my emotions,” Harvey retorts, which is so ridiculous that both of them burst out laughing at once.

Over breakfast the next morning, Annie says, “Now say you’re a bird.”

“If you’re a bird, I’m a bird,” Harvey replies easily. Then, just to prove that he can play her game, “You are lovelier this morning than you have ever been.”

Annie approaches him with huge, serious eyes. “I’m just a girl…standing in front of a boy…asking him to stop hogging the coffee pot.”

Harvey flicks a sugar cube at her.

—

The first time Annie comes home to the condo, Harvey is already there; he’d left work early to get started on dinner, give her a proper welcome. She steps out of his private elevator and looks around, on tenterhooks.

“What’s the verdict on Kyle?” Harvey asks.

Annie blows out a breath, and grins, “Fuckin’ hate him.”

Harvey grins back. They’ll be okay.

—

“Is she eating? And sleeping? And she’s on Zoloft again, and iron for her anaemia, has she been taking those? And regular showers? And—”

“Yes,” Harvey says patiently, “to all of that. Mike. She is fine.”

She is. That first night, Harvey had padded out into the living room for a glass of water at around three am and found Annie on the couch, blanket pulled up to her chin. He’d thought she was asleep, but when he made for the couch, she sat up, startling him into sloshing water all over the floor.

“Sorry,” she mumbled. “Didn’t mean to scare you. I just wanted something to be normal.”

She slept on the couch sometimes, Harvey learned, in Brooklyn; it was a pull-out, and she relegated herself there if Mike had court the next day, or something else huge and unavoidably important, and vice versa if she had a presentation, or exams, or dress rehearsal. Otherwise, they shared a bed.

“Would you like to stay in my room?” Harvey asked. Annie considered, and nodded, and slept like a log ’til morning.

She’d taken to sleeping in her own room, after that. But sometimes Harvey is woken by the rustling of sheets as she crawls into bed beside him, breathing fast and erratic. She never wants to talk about it, so he doesn’t push.

“I’m just worried about her,” Mike says for the eleventh time this evening.

“I know,” Harvey says, also for the eleventh time. “You’re allowed to be worried about your daughter. But she’s fine. And keeps using up all the hot water.”

Mike scoffs. “No way your building runs out of hot water.”

“And yet,” Harvey mutters, which makes Mike laugh. “Mike. Go change the world. We’re fine.”

“I know,” Mike says tiredly. “Love you, Harvey.”

“Love you.”

“Say it to Annie for me.”

“Always.”

—

Annie is fascinated by Harvey’s piano, and spends a good chunk of her Sunday off sitting in front of it, hammering out slightly-wobbly melodies. _Take the ‘A’ Train, At Last, Sinnerman_.

“Mike taught me,” Annie tells him. “When we were younger. It’s been a while.” She sings under her breath as she plays. _I run to the river, it was boiling, I run to the sea…_

“Somehow it doesn’t surprise me that Mike plays the piano.”

Annie smiles. Her Boston accent is so much better than Harvey and Mike’s combined. “My boy’s wicked smart.”  
  
Harvey sits down next to her on the piano bench, tries to pick a song he thinks she won’t know. A few bars into _Paper Doll_ , she shudders.

“You know the Mills Brothers?” Harvey asks, incredulous.

She wrinkles her nose. “Have you ever read Arthur Miller?”

“ _Death of a Salesman_. We did it in high school.”

“ _A View From the Bridge_?” Harvey shakes his head. “Well, don’t,” she says darkly. “Not if you want to enjoy that song.”

“Have you just read _everything_?”

“If I could always read I should never feel the want of company,” Annie declares. She gives him a crooked smile. “That’s Byron. I like to read. Other people always seem to have the words for when I don’t.”

Harvey nods. He’s never been a particularly voracious reader, but the way Annie talks about words is the way his father used to talk about music, like it alone could sustain her.

Annie starts up on the piano again, only the barest chords, so that Harvey doesn’t recognise what she’s playing until she starts singing as well: _when the moon hits your eye like a big pizza pie—_

“That’s—?”

“ _Amore!_ ” Annie laughs; that, too, is music. “It’s my favourite song,” she grins brightly.

“Seriously?”

Annie laughs again, an unburdened, joyous thing, her elbow bashing the keys and producing a discordant jangle.

“Hey,” Harvey warns out of habit.

As it turns out, Annie does a pretty good Inspector Clouseau, too. “ _What iz ze price of one pyanow compared to ze tehrrible crime zat has been committed here?_ ”

“But that’s a priceless Steinway!” Harvey laments.

“ _Not anymawr_ ,” Annie drawls, making them both laugh hard enough that they end up leaning on the piano again anyway.

—

It shouldn’t be so easy, Harvey keeps telling himself. It should feel strange, or wrong. Rescheduling client meetings to be home while the sun is still up, spending his Friday nights watching terrible romantic comedies. A seventeen-year-old girl in his kitchen, doing bad karaoke while she potters about ostensibly making dinner.

Harvey has lived in this apartment a long, long time, and loved it all the while. But he thinks maybe he understands that thing people say about making a house a home.

“You’re the all-singing, all-dancing crap of the world,” he tells Annie.

Annie smiles at him, and then says, “I don’t want to freak you out, but I love you, Harvey.”

“I love you too, kiddo.”

It comes easily because it’s true.

“We’re fine,” he tells Mike, during Mike’s daily obligatory Has My Daughter Died Yet Oh Yeah My Boyfriend Is There Too call. He puts the phone on speaker. “Annie’s fine. Annie, tell Mike you’re fine.”

“ _TURN AROUND,_ ” Annie belts for Mike’s benefit.

“See?”

“ _EVERY NOW AND THEN I GET A LITTLE BIT—_ ”

“Alright, X-Factor,” Mike gripes, “message received.”

Harvey, still laughing, says, “I told you.”

“She’s singing, Harvey,” Mike says, oddly choked up. “She’s singing.”

It’s not something Harvey will ever understand, probably, but the way Mike says it, like it’s some monumental thing — it make Harvey want to cry, too. Some things she doesn't share, Harvey has come to realise, _Fight Club_ and _Call me Annie_ and the unfiltered sound of her voice, wasted on ’90s pop and terrible love ballads, in the shower and when the radio’s on and while she’s cooking. 

“Wait till you have to hear her butcher Toni Braxton at seven in the morning,” Harvey says, just to diffuse the tension. It works; Mike laughs.

“What do you the last seventeen years have been like for me?”

Annie, hearing him, hollers, “ _UN-BREAK MY HEART,_ ” which makes Mike groan loudly.

“Please don’t—"

“ _SAY YOU’LL LOVE ME AGAIN!_ ”

“ _Undo this hurt you caused_ ,” Harvey joins in, because the utter joy of nettling Mike greatly outweighs the shame of singing Toni Braxton, “ _when you walked out the door and walked out of my life_ — _”_

_“UNCRY THESE TEAAAAAARS—”_

“I hate you both!” Mike yells, and hangs up.

—

Harvey wakes up with a stomach ache and puts it down to lack of sleep. His first month as a junior partner he forgot to eat and sleep and had ended up nearly dying of a cold that should have just incapacitated him minorly. As managing partner, he’s ten times as busy, and he’s been up late talking to Mike every night anyway.

He skips breakfast. Annie asks him to stay home, but he declines; she looks concerned, but lets him go. Harvey promises to call her if he needs anything.

The stomach ache doesn’t go away. Harvey feels clammy, asks Donna to turn the air conditioning up. Wishes his office had blinds so that the sun wasn’t quite so much in his eyes.

Annie, on top of having read every book, has also apparently seen every single movie; when Harvey calls her at lunch, she greets him with, “Talk to me, Goose.”

She does that a lot. Habit with Mike, Harvey learned. Yesterday, it was _Yippi-ki-yay, motherfucker._

“Just checking in. All good?”

“All good.”

“Have you eaten?”

“Yes, _Dad_ ,” Annie grouses, and then there’s the slightest of pauses. “Does your stomach still hurt?” She plows on, electing to ignore that little slip-up.

“I’m fine,” Harvey says, and then hisses against an especially sharp stab in his abdomen.

“Son, your ego is writing cheques your body can’t cash.”

Harvey swallows. “I promise you I’m fine.”

He maintains this until he goes home, and staggers in the door, suddenly light-headed. Annie cries, “Harvey!” and supports him with an arm around his waist until he reaches the couch.

“I’m fine,” Harvey attempts to affirm.

“You look like a ghost,” Annie says anxiously. “I’m calling an ambulance.”

“Annie, I said I’m fine.”

“I’m calling Mike, then.”

“Don’t call Mike,” Harvey says immediately. Annie glares at him. “Seriously, don’t. What can he do, anyway? It’ll just distract him.”

“Fine,” Annie agrees, “I won’t call an ambulance, and I won’t call Mike. But I am calling Donna, and Ray, and we are taking you to the hospital.”

Harvey would really like to protest, but he’s suddenly exhausted.

—

Marcus had appendicitis, back when Harvey was an associate. He’d thought, when he got the call, that the cancer had come back, but that call wouldn’t come until years later.

He’s still groggy from drugs when he realises someone is crying beside him. Annie, in a chair to his left, a hand over her mouth so as not to disturb anyone.

“Told you I w’s fine,” Harvey slurs, trying to reach for her.

Annie gives him a look that indicates if he wasn’t lying in a hospital bed right now she’d smack him. “You just got out of _surgery_.”

“Hmm,” Harvey says, as if this is a minor detail.

“You are such a dick,” Annie seethes. “I begged you to stay home.”

It reminds him of sitting by Mike’s hospital bed and saying, _I begged you to get therapy_ , trying not to cry. Annie has no such qualms, and weeps freely, her eyes red at the rims.

“It could be worse,” he manages, trying to gather his wits. “A woman could cut off your penis while you’re sleeping and toss it out the window of a moving car.”

Annie chokes on a laugh. “Jesus, Harvey.”

He’s cleared to go home by the end of the day, but Annie (and Donna, who shows up at Harvey’s door _fuming_ ) make him stay home until the bruising clears and he regains his full range of movement. Annie takes those days off, too, and when she finally goes back to work she comes home with a basketful of muffins from Momma Shorty, Momma Little, & co. (so the card is signed).

“I’ve been thinking,” Annie begins.

Harvey, around a mouthful of banana nut muffin, says, “Sounds dangerous.”

Annie laughs courteously, but the pinched look on her face remains. “Harvey… What are your intentions with Mike?”

Harvey swallows. “I’ll tell him,” he promises. “I just didn’t want to upset him over nothing.”

“You landing in the hospital is not nothing,” Annie says immediately, but then shakes her head. “No, I meant, like — more broadly. In terms of your…thing.”

Harvey raises an eyebrow. “Are you asking me if I’m gonna make an honest man of him?”

“I think he’d be the one making an honest man of you,” Annie says. She shrugs. “I don’t know. When you were under, I kept asking them what was happening, how long until I could see you, but they wouldn’t give me proper answers because we’re not family. Legally, I mean,” she adds, glancing at him. “And I just kept thinking, if Mike were here, or if it ever happened again, how devastated he’d be to be kept on the outside like that. He loves you, Harvey. And we don’t have a great track record with medical facilities. I don’t think he could stand it.” 

Edith, Harvey knows, died alone in her hospice room. Mike had been at work, and Annie had been in the hallway trying to call Mike at work. Both of them told the story with the same palpable self-loathing.

“I’ve never really thought of myself as the marriage type,” Harvey says softly. Annie’s face falls. “But I think, if it had to be anyone, it would be him.”

“It wouldn’t have to be immediately,” Annie says. “Or even soon. Just something to think about.” She smirks. “But you two don’t exactly have a reputation for doing things by halves.”

“No,” Harvey agrees with a grin. He thinks about taking Mike to work dinners and charity galas and introducing him as _my husband, Mike Ross_. Clocking out at the end of the day with _I have to get home to my husband_. He’s said it a few times, when they’re trying to get reservations and such, because _my husband will be dining with me_ is a lot more distinguished and generally better-received than _uh, my boyfriend’s coming too_. But if they do this, seal the deal, people will _know_ — when Harvey walks down the street, they’ll see his ring, and they’ll know. Waitresses who have the wrong idea about Mike (and some waiters who have exactly the right idea) will think twice before they leave their number on his copy of the receipt. When they go to bars, Mike’s hand curled around his drink on the bartop, his ring will catch the light. People will _know_.

“My colours are blush and bashful,” Harvey says out loud.

Annie smirks again. “How precious is this weddin’ gonna get?”

—

Harvey always thought, if Donna got married, it’d be an intimate, whirlwind affair, or perhaps she’d just elope; that would fit her style, the drama and the danger and the general thespian nature of it all.

“You’re…at my desk?”

Donna looks up from the myriad colour-coded binders in front of her. “You’re _late_ ,” she returns. “And my cubicle wasn’t big enough.”

“Something I can help you with?”

Donna opens her mouth, probably to refuse, but then she closes it and gives Harvey a sweeping, critical look. “Hmm,” she says, squinting at his hips. Harvey feels vaguely objectified. “Your suit guy do wedding gear?”

“Rene? Sure.”

“Think he’d work for me? Our stylist keeps pushing these, like, cigarette pants, but I want more of a culotte-style thing.”

“Can’t hurt to ask,” Harvey says, like he knows at all what she’s talking about.

Culottes turn out to be boxy, flare-y pants that Rene makes part of Donna’s jumpsuit, sleeveless with cutouts at the waist. Her bouquet of sunflowers sticks out against it as her father walks her down the aisle.

“Whoa,” Mike whispers. Harvey agrees with the sentiment.

Donna looks beautiful, of course, her red hair lying in loose curls on her shoulders, no more makeup than she’d wear to the office. Nell walks down the aisle, next, presented by her grandfather, who flew in from Korea just two days ago. Her grandmother is sitting in the front row, dabbing at her eyes with a tissue. Nell’s ex-boyfriend is there, too, with _his_ boyfriend, both of them grinning madly.

You make your family where you can, Harvey thinks, as he watches Annie help Nell up onto the altar, carefully gathering the frankly ridiculous train of her dress — which is ridiculous in and of itself, this huge lace and tulle thing with sunflowers stitched into the voluminous skirt. She looks lovely, but also like she might collapse under the weight of it all.

Neither bride is especially religious — Donna was raised agnostic, and Nell’s family are submarine catholics (and only just). There’s no mass or communion or anything, but there is a painfully long ceremony conducted by the world’s oldest man. Harvey stifles a yawn. Mike kicks him lightly in the ankle.

Finally, finally, they get to the vows — _in good times and bad, in sickness and in health_ , and Donna and Nell’s own vows, that make everyone cry except Harvey, although he does have a hard time swallowing the lump in his throat. He offers Mike one of Harold’s many handkerchiefs, which Mike takes with a grateful sniffle.

Even though the wedding is huge — Nell’s entire workplace shows up, and Donna’s vast network of assistants and secretaries — the reception is a lot smaller, Donna and Nell’s remaining family, PSL included, and a few friends. Harvey is subjected to Louis’ dancing again, though Annie very bravely steps up to be his partner, and seems to be able to hold her own. Mike dances with Donna while Harvey dances with Nell, who is now in a much shorter, more sensible dress, and then they switch.

“You look beautiful,” Harvey tells Donna.

“Mr Specter, I’m so flattered,” Donna replies, “but I’m afraid I’m married.”

Mike is right, Harvey thinks, as Mike so often tends to be; she’s not leaving. She’s _becoming_. And she really is beautiful.

Annie cuts in to dance with Donna, too, and gush over her; the two of them twirl away, giggling. When she joins Harvey at a table, picking at his cake, she’s sweaty but smiling.

“Got you something,” she says, pushing a small, square box at him. “Wedding gift.”

“Generally those go to the wedding couple,” Harvey explains, taking it. It’s light, about the size of his palm, crushed black velvet with a delicate gold clasp.

“Preemptive,” Annie rolls her eyes. “Open it.”

It’s a ring. Princess cut, or something like that, a sort of boxed-in diamond with smaller stones all along the band. “Doesn’t really go with anything I own,” Harvey jokes hoarsely.

Annie, probably wisely, chooses to ignore him. “It’s Grammy’s,” she says. “I got it cleaned.”

“That kind of thing costs money,” Harvey says warily.

She shakes her head. “Lonnie’s uncle has been a jeweller for years. Did it as a favour.”

Sure. Of course. And why not? Harvey has built a career around the connections he makes. Why shouldn’t Annie do the same?

“Don’t do it now,” Annie says, as if she can tell what he’s thinking. “It’d be rude. And Donna would kill you.”

“Thank you,” Harvey says, of the ring. Annie nods, and stands.

“I guess that means you owe me a dance.”

—

In the end, it takes him three tries to pop the question.

Four, counting the first dinner they have as a family after Mike comes home from Seattle, jet-lagged and smiling from ear to ear. He kisses Harvey at the gate, and squeezes Annie to a pulp in a long, tearful hug, and then goes home to his apartment and crashes for fourteen hours straight.

Annie stays with Harvey so as not to disturb him, and she’s the one to answer the door that evening. “Harvey,” she calls, kissing Mike on the cheek. “Look what the cat dragged in!”

Just for that, Mike chases Annie into the kitchen where Harvey is trying to figure out what an acceptable proposal meal is. She dodges him, shrieking, until he corners her against the kitchen island and tickles her until she weeps.

“Hi,” he grins at Harvey, once Annie cries uncle.

“Hello, stranger,” Harvey smirks, ignoring the spike in his heart rate.

“It’s good to see you,” Mike says, still on the other side of the island, and then kisses the top of Annie’s head. “Missed you.”

“Missed you, Dad.” She clears her throat. “I’m gonna go pick a movie,” she announces, and leaves the room.

Mike wends his way around the island so he can hop up on Harvey’s side of it. He kisses like he’s starving, grasping at Harvey’s shoulders, his hair. Harvey cradles Mike’s jaw in one hand and his hip in the other, fingers dipping below the waistband of his sweats.

Mike breaks off, his forehead against Harvey’s, breathing hard. “Am I bad person for wishing my daughter wasn’t here right now?”

“If it does,” Harvey murmurs against his mouth, “that makes two of us."

“I missed you, Harvey,” Mike says tenderly.

“I missed you, too.” Harvey feels this clawing urgency, the same thing he’d felt the first time they kissed, to bury Mike in his chest and keep him there. “You are my heart,” he says, the shape of these words familiar in his mouth. Mike kisses him again, hard and biting.

“I’m never going anywhere ever again,” he promises fervently. “Except the living room. There is that problem of my daughter.”

As if on cue, Annie calls, “ _I don-a suppose you could speed things up!_ ”

“Come on,” Harvey says, into Mike’s jaw, “or she’ll start getting ideas.”

“Guess you picked a movie,” Mike says when they join Annie in the living room, holding hands.

“Maybe,” Annie says, skipping through the list of titles onscreen. She pauses very pointedly on _Steel Magnolias_ , and then keeps going, _The Matrix, The Devil Wears Prada,_ Disney’s _Mulan_ , all films they watched together in the last couple of weeks. She isn’t really looking. “You two make up?”

“Something like that,” Mike smiles.

“Would you like to stay for dinner?” Annie’s looking very hard at Harvey.

“Would you like to stay forever?” Harvey follows up dutifully.

Mike laughs, but then he catches the look on Harvey’s face. “I — wait.”

He doesn’t even have the ring; it’s tucked very carefully into his sock drawer, away from prying eyes. Donna is going to _kill_ him.

“Harvey,” Mike is saying desperately, apologetically, “Harvey, I just got back.”

Maybe he should let her. She’ll be putting him out of his misery.

“I understand,” Harvey says limply.

“I just moved into the new apartment,” Mike is explaining. Harvey wishes he would stop talking, and then realises Mike is answering a completely different question than Harvey thought he’d asked.

Harvey opens his mouth to clarify — or maybe not. But then Annie is saying, wry, “Barely.”

“What?” Mike asks, tearing his eyes away from Harvey a little too late.

“You had work, and then you went off to Seattle, and I moved here. All your stuff is still in boxes.” Musingly, she adds, “It’s really more my apartment anyway."

“Annie,” Mike is saying, somewhat warningly.

“I’ll be eighteen soon. It’ll be good for me to get used to living alone before Columbia.”

“Annie.”

“Harvey,” Annie says, “can you get us some water?”

Harvey nods, and goes back into the kitchen. Fills two glasses of water, downs one entirely. Fills it again, lets the water run longer than it has to. When he finally returns to the living room, Annie and Mike are hugging fiercely, Mike’s face buried in her shoulder.

“Thanks,” she says to Harvey when she spots him, and drains her glass in one go. “Mike has something to tell you.” She kisses them both on the cheek, and then she’s gone. Distantly, the front door slams shut.

Mike blinks. “Did she just—”

“I think so,” Harvey says, and then something about making dinner, barely breathing. Mike follows him into the kitchen, saying his name, plastering himself against Harvey’s back until he stops moving.

“I’ll stay.”

“For dinner?”

“Forever.”

“Mike,” Harvey says, perfectly still.

“I want to. Harvey, I want to.” Mike is in front of him, now, holding his face. Harvey feels dizzy. “I’ll move in.”

“Okay,” Harvey says, “yeah, okay,” and probably some other nonsense that Mike cuts off by biting Harvey’s lip.

In the end, they just order in.

—

That time doesn’t count, Harvey tells himself. It still matters, in all the most important ways, but it doesn’t count.

He doesn’t try again for a few months. The rings has to be removed from his sock drawer, because it is now _their_ sock drawer. He dithers between hiding places for a while, and then ends up just giving it to Donna.

“Harvey,” Donna says, looking down at the ring box. “You know we were just at my wedding, right?”

“It’s not—”

“I mean, I really am flattered,” she says, grinning now, so Harvey knows she’s fucking with him. “But I’m married.”

“Donna.”

“And a _lesbian_.”

“I’m in love with him.” Harvey gazes at her beseechingly. “Please?”

Donna leaves for her honeymoon, but she entrusts the ring with her temporary replacement, Gretchen, who is Donna if Donna was about thirty years older and not as Caucasian as they come.

“Mr Specter, I wanted to—”

Harvey blinks. “You’re still here?” The sun went down hours ago.

“I don’t leave until you leave,” Gretchen says.

“In that case, what time is my meeting with Adidas?”

“Eleven fifteen. I moved your eleven to three and your three to five.”

“Did you line up—”

“Buyers? I did, but not for another week. Nike and Puma are overseas and you said Reebok didn’t matter if the other two can’t be there.”

“Goddamn it,” Harvey mutters.

“There’s one more thing—”

“What does it matter? I can’t delay the sale if I don’t know why my client is dumping his company in the first place.”

“That’s the one more thing.” Harvey looks up. “Mr Doyle’s best friend died a month ago of pancreatic cancer. He was forty-six.”

“How’d you know that?”

“Something he said to you just before he started talking shit about me stuck in my head.”

“What exactly was that?”

“When people say _life is short_ two times in thirty seconds, it’s usually right after somebody died.”

“I take it you were listening to our conversation,” Harvey mumbles, feeling rather admonished.

“That’s what good secretaries do.”

“Sorry about the Keebler thing,” Harvey winces.

“You didn’t say it,” Gretchen dismisses. “Besides, it doesn’t take Albert Einstein to figure out why you hired somebody that looks like me when you’re marrying somebody who looks like him.” She nods vaguely in the direction of Mike’s office. Empty, now: he’d gone home hours ago to call Annie and make dinner.

“I guess Donna told you,” Harvey says sheepishly.

“Nobody had to tell me a thing,” Gretchen replies. “That look on your face, you might as well be shouting it from the rafters. But a man like you must have a reputation, Mr Specter.”

Harvey tries to wipe whatever that look is off his face. “Listen, Gretchen, I—”

“You don’t have to worry about that with me,” Gretchen interrupts firmly. She looks him up and down. “I prefer my men manly.”

Harvey frowns. “Am I not…manly?”

“Well, if you have to ask,” Gretchen drawls. Harvey _adores_ her.

Mike is already in bed when he gets home, in boxers and one of Harvey’s t shirts from college, too wide around his throat and shoulders. “Carbonara on the stove,” he mumbles, when Harvey crawls under the duvet beside him.

“Mmm,” Harvey hums into the back of his neck. “I think we should invite Gretchen—” _to the wedding,_ he almost says.

“Bodinski?” Mike says, still sleepy-mumbling. “Your new Donna? To what, dinner?”

“Nobody’s the new Donna,” Harvey says. “There is only Donna.”

Mike turns over so he can look Harvey in the face, quizzical.

“To work full-time,” Harvey invents. “Louis needs a new secretary. He’s going through temps like they’re tampons.”

“Hmm,” Mike says absently, pushing his feet between Harvey’s calves. “Think I could convince her to work for the class-action clinic?”

“She’s too good for the clinic.”

Mike shoves him a little, but he’s smiling. “Forsyth Bodinski. It has a certain _je ne sais quoi,_ no?”

“You want her to run the place?”

“I honestly think she could run the world,” Mike says, and Harvey can’t disagree. “Missing Donna?”

“Missed you,” Harvey replies honestly, kissing Mike’s eyelids, the corner of his mouth.

“Yeah?” Mike kisses him back, lets it spin out slow and dirty between them, fingers working at Harvey’s tie. He couldn’t be bothered to get undressed as soon as he saw Mike in their bed. Mike slips the tie out from under Harvey’s collar and wraps one end around his own wrist. “Why don’t you show me how much you missed me?”

The thing about living together is that Mike is always _with_ Harvey — not just at breakfast and in the shower and setting the table if he gets home first, but through every big and little thing — Jessica’s farewell, Norma’s funeral, Louis’ wedding, every boring-but-necessary client dinner, every time Harvey has to bend the rules a little more than usual and feels like shit about it. On Harvey’s yearly trip to see his father’s grave, the first time he decides to see his mother’s, when Marcus has a cancer scare, when the results come back clear and Harvey sits heavily at the foot of his bed and cries with quiet relief. Mike’s hand in Harvey’s, or on his knee under the table, his head on Harvey’s shoulder, texts and emails and notes stuck to the inside of case files that say exactly what Harvey needs to hear.

Mike always has the right words for every occasion, but then there’s _this_ ; Harvey likes this, because Mike reciting poetry in his ear, or begging and cursing, garbled with want, is great, groundbreaking, but this is surrender, Mike too gone for words, the stutter of his breath, a rare moment of stillness.

“Missed your body,” Harvey murmurs against his ear, and god, he likes this. “I think about your body a lot, you know?”

Mike gasps, arching up into him, pulling tight at his bonds. Given the proper motivation, Harvey can find exactly the right words, too.

“I like your body so much,” Harvey continues, pressing in so slow and sweet, “your hands, and your mouth — your chest,” he scrapes over a nipple with his thumbnail.

“ _Harvey—_ ”

“How tight you are,” and for a moment neither of them can speak, Mike taking Harvey so completely, so wonderfully, “like your dick — and your mind…”

He lets his mouth run away from him after that, keeping up a constant litany of praise and desire he can’t think about very hard, too caught up in the rhythm and movement ( _take me so well_ ), and the way it feels like drowning ( _want you all the time_ ), skin and sweat and a togetherness that has nothing to do with sex.

When Mike tips over the edge ( _love that sound you make_ ), he takes Harvey with him. He feels just like home.

—

It’s one of those nights that Harvey decides he’ll try again. Mike collapses on top of him, both of them sticky and spent, and Harvey says into his hair, “God, marry me.”

Mike laughs, rumbling against Harvey’s chest. “Don’t go saying things like that,” he says, rolling off Harvey to stretch beside him, languid and grinning loosely, “you’ll give a guy a complex.”

“Mike,” Harvey says.

Mike leans in and kisses him briefly. “I know I’m good, but I’m not that good.”

Possibly, Harvey thinks, given his track record, that might’ve come off as a post-coital, spur-of-the-moment rambling, rather than an honest and serious declaration of his feelings. He retrieves the ring from Gretchen, who gives him a knowing and approving smile, and takes to carrying it around in his pocket, waiting for a moment that feels right without being too orchestrated.

He winds up at Rachel’s cubicle — she’s back from Boston, working as a summer associate, as per the terms of her contract. “You got married.”

Rachel looks up at him. “Yes. You were there.”

“I remember. How — how did you do that?”

Rachel twists her wedding band around her finger with a small, wistful smile. “I honestly don’t know.” She assesses him. “When I met Jenny, something just — clicked. And it kept clicking. We walked past a pawn shop on our third date, and there were rings in the window, and that clicked, too. I didn’t mean for any of this, but I’ve never been happier. It’ll make sense, at the right time.”

Harvey nods, and then realises he’s nodding too much and stops. “Thanks.”

“Harvey,” she calls as he leaves. He turns. “I just want you to know: I think it’s really great. And he will say yes.”

Harvey nods again. He doesn’t need her approval, of course, but it feels good to have it all the same.

—

The next time he asks, they’re both up to their eyeballs in case files, some discrimination suit against Tonya Barrett, CEO and socialite, and one of the only people with whom Harvey can have a cosmopolitan without sacrificing his dignity. Mike is combing through lines of legal jargon with a pen in that weird, cyborg-brain way of his, and then he looks up and says, “Show me the money!”

“Uh,” Harvey says.

“Nothing,” Mike shakes his head, “Nothing, sorry. I got her.”

Tonya Barrett isn't discriminating against anyone; as it turns out, the whole problem is that she isn’t, because the plaintiff, her secretary of just over a decade, is in love with her. The suit is dropped, and so is the secretary, but only so that Tonya can drive her to the city clerk’s office.

Mike laughs as he watches them go. “What a weird fucking day.”

“People do stupid things when they’re in love,” Harvey says.

“Clearly,” Mike says, giving him a sideways look. Harvey gets distracted by the way his mouth curves around the word, and only just catches Mike’s next sentence, some jab about trophy wives.

“I don’t know,” Harvey says, “I think you’d be pretty good at that.”

Mike laughs again. “I do have soft features.”

Rachel informs him that this does not qualify as a proposal, or even a question. Harvey would like to protest, but he figures she knows what she’s talking about.

—

He really, desperately wants to call Donna, but it’s her honeymoon (and also, she’d murder him if he tried). So he talks to Louis, instead, and tells himself that he will endure this mortification for the noble cause of love and matrimony.

Louis won’t stop smiling at him. It’s unnerving. “Harvey, I asked Sheila to marry me while I was still in the hospital, and she said, “Louis, I don’t want you to ask me what you’re about to ask me because you’re afraid to die alone.” But it wasn’t about that — it was about living without the woman I love. It doesn’t matter how, or where, it just has to be genuine.”

Harvey wants to point out that they’re all lawyers, and genuine is not in the job description. Instead, he thanks Louis, and goes to his office to pour himself a drink.

That’s where Mike finds him, in his office, bourbon in hand. “Evan Williams? Not like you to slum it, Harvey.”

Harvey huffs, and knocks it back. “Whiskey’s whiskey.”

“Not really,” Mike says, because Harvey has taught him well. “Anyway, I’m glad. Donna says men who only drink scotch are overcompensating.”

“Stop talking to Donna.”

“Tell Donna to stop talking to me,” Mike retorts, which is such a copout. Nobody tells Donna to do anything.

 _Genuine_ , Louis said, and _it’ll make sense_ , Rachel said. But everything about Mike is so real, and nothing beyond him makes sense. Harvey takes the ring box out of his inside jacket pocket and places it on the table like a triumph.

“Mike Ross,” he starts.

“Yes,” Mike says, and then looks at the box and blurts, “oh, holy shit. Yes.”

“Will you—”

“Yes. Oh my god.”

“I am trying to make a grand gesture,” Harvey says, irked. Mike looks at him anticipatorily, and Harvey remembers that he is actually terrible at grand gestures. “Mike, I love you. You make everything make sense. I never want to do anything without you ever again. You are my heart,” he finishes, because he thinks Mike will like that.

Mike does. He climbs into Harvey’s lap, and whispers, “You have to ask.”

“Marry me,” Harvey murmurs, pushing his face against Mike’s. “I mean, will you?”

“Yes,” Mike gasps, choked, rubbing his cheek against Harvey’s, kissing the edge of his jaw. “Yes.”

“I don’t want you to say yes because you feel like you have to,” Harvey says, suddenly suspicious. “Or because you think I need to hear it. I don’t care about anything except—”

“Harvey,” Mike says, leaning back to retrieve the box off the table. “Shut up.” When Harvey slides the ring onto his finger, he says, “ _You had me at hello_.”

Harvey groans, and Mike laughs, and then chews his lip. “We have to pick a date. And a venue. And send out invitations. And call Annie, and Rachel, and Marcus, and Donna, and the city clerk’s office…”

“Yes,” Harvey says, “or we could go home and have we-just-got-engaged sex all over the condo.”

“Better,” Mike agrees, and nearly falls out of Harvey’s lap in his haste.

—

Donna, unmitigated horror that she is, gives Mike the number of her wedding planner, and Harvey sits through several intense meetings with a very beautiful, very serious, and incomparably terrifying woman named Giselle. Annie practically moves back in, and she and Mike spend all of their free time going to cake tastings and picking linen samples for the tablecloths and studying different napkin folds.

It’s exhausting, and more of an ordeal than Harvey ever really wanted, but Mike looks so happy, surrounded by folders of photographs and phone numbers and fabric squares, Harvey doesn’t intervene.

“I wish we didn’t actually have to get married,” Harvey mumbles one night, when they’re climbing into bed after a full weekend of location-scouting.

Mike freezes beside him. “If you’re having second thoughts—”

“No,” Harvey says immediately, tries to unscramble his brain long enough to word this correctly. “I like seeing you like this, planning things for us. Our future. I don’t want it to stop.”

“Harvey,” Mike says, cupping his face. His ring is cool against Harvey’s cheek. “We have the rest of our lives together.”

“Mmm,” Harvey rolls on top of him, “Mrs Specter,” which makes Mike giggle and then groan when Harvey pushes his hands underneath his shirt. 

—

Annie walks Mike down the aisle, which Harvey thinks is only right. He asks Jessica to do the honours for him.

“Are you serious?” She asks him, her voice tinny over the phone.

“I mean, if you can’t make—”

“Of course I can,” she cuts him off. “We’re family. I love you, Harvey.”

Harvey releases a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. “Love you, too.”

The wedding is performed by Father Walker, Mike’s pastor from childhood. Neither of them are Catholic, but Grammy was, and Mike wants some part of her in all this. Harvey accedes readily.

“Really?” Harvey asks, when Mike is sitting up in bed one night on his laptop. “ _Leather and Lace_?”

“It was our first dance as a couple,” Mike mumbles shyly. “It doesn’t matter. We can pick something else.”

Harvey shakes his head. That song means nothing to him outside of Mike, but he supposes that’s the point.

The reception is at the Chilton, because Mike is a sappy moron and Donna is a monster enabler. They don’t do their own vows — “I don’t think I could put it into words,” Harvey admits, which makes Mike smile like the sun — but during that first dance, Harvey murmurs, “You are my heart.”

Mike’s eyes close. He swallows. _Stay with me, sta-ay_.

Annie and Mike have a father-daughter dance to Dean Martin’s _That’s Amore_. It is Mike that’s getting married, but they’ve always done everything backwards, the two of them. Jessica takes that song with Harvey, an unsurprisingly impeccable dancer, even in her dangerously high heels. They don’t speak, but she looks at him with a mixture of pride and nostalgia that makes Harvey’s eyes prickle.

“Thank you for coming,” Mike says to Jessica.

Jessica, to Mike’s evident shock, hugs him. “I wouldn’t have missed this.”

Gretchen does come, as well as several people Harvey definitely did not sign off on. “Donna,” he says, carefully measured, “why is my associate at my wedding?”

“Not your associate for much longer,” Donna points out. It’s true; Harvey moved Kyle up to mid-level earlier this month, because he has to admit, however begrudgingly, the kid is talented.

“Be nice, Harvey,” Mike says. “He’s my friend.”

“Ex.”

Mike frowns. “We’re still friends.”

“Not that kind of ex.”

Mike frowns some more, and then purses his lips. “Really? On our wedding day?”

The band starts playing _I Say a Little Prayer_ ; Donna shoves them both away from the cake table. “Go. Dance.”

They do, because Donna is not to be refused. “Kyle is my _friend_ ,” Mike reiterates, “and you are my husband.”

“Mm,” Harvey says, nipping at his ear. “Say it again.”

Mike rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling. “You’re my husband,” he says, “husband, husband, husband…”

It sounds fucking gorgeous out of his mouth. An absolute shit-show led them here, and Harvey is grateful for every second of it.

Annie had given him his present before the ceremony itself, because she’d wanted Harvey to open it before he was worn out by the festivities. A framed photo of the three of them, taken at the Pearson Specter Litt Christmas Bash, where Mike had drunk too many spiked cocoas and Annie had proved she couldn’t skate to save her life. In the package, there had been another frame underneath it, much smaller; the note Harvey had left for Mike the first time he stayed the night, after the incident at Momma’s, faded, but unmistakably the same.

Harvey wanted to say he couldn’t believed Mike kept it, but he absolutely did.

Even so, Annie approaches him with a big brown envelope when he’s sprawled on the couch, dog-tired, still half in his wedding tux.

“You really have to stop spoiling me like this,” he says, taking it from her clumsily.

“Last one, I promise,” Annie says tightly.

Harvey opens the envelope. And stares.

“I know I’m already eighteen,” Annie starts, stammering a little, “so it’s a little weird, but it’s not like you’d have to raise me or anything—”

“Annie,” Harvey interrupts. “Get me a fucking pen.”

Annie does, and cries a little into his shoulder when they hug.

“Now it’s official,” she sniffs. “You have to keep me.”

“Idiot,” Harvey pokes her in the ribs, “I was always going to keep you.”

Mike comes in with wet hair, wearing boxers and one of Harvey’s old Harvard shirts. He looks between them, and starts crying, too, which makes Annie cry again, and Harvey, a little, although he’s excused, because it’s his wedding day and he’s so very tired.

Annie goes back home to let them kick off their honeymoon, which is just two weeks off to hole up in the apartment while the rest of the world thinks they’re in a hotel suite somewhere far-off and expensive. Harvey starts by stripping out of his tux and taking a long, hot shower, and then climbing into bed next to Mike, who is already half-asleep.

“Too tired to consummate?” Harvey asks. Mike laughs, but it devolves into a yawn.

“Honestly, yeah.” He yawns again. “I’m never letting Donna talk to me into a huge wedding ever again.”

“I hope not,” Harvey says mildly.

Mike snorts sleepily. “You know what I mean. For Annie, or something.”

“Think Annie’ll get married?”

“I think Annie will do whatever she wants,” Mike mumbles. Harvey hums in agreement.

“Tomorrow,” he promises, “I am going to fuck you until you can’t see straight.”

Mike grins, flushed. “No rush. We have a whole two weeks in…Santorini?”

“Did you say Santorini? I told Kyle Buenos Aires.”

“I told _Donna_ Buenos Aires,” Mike frowns.

“I told her Paris.”

“She’ll never believe Paris. It’s too cliché for you.”

“You make me cliché,” Harvey says, and then they’re both giggling stupidly.

“Two weeks in Paris,” Mike says, shifting on top of Harvey so that he can lay his head in the crook of his neck. “And then the rest of our lives.”

“I love you,” Harvey mumbles, and is asleep.

—

“Come on, Harvey. Throw me a bone here.”

“Not subtle,” Harvey tells him, rolling over in bed. Mike’s voice is scratchy over the phone, but comforting nonetheless. “You’re the one that decided to go cruising off to California at the drop of a hat.”

“I’m not _cruising_ anywhere,” Mike says indignantly. “And I put off this trip as long as I could.”

“I know,” Harvey says. They’ve had this conversation a million times. “I just miss you.”

“So tell me what you’re wearing.”

“ _Mike_.”

“Come on, Harvey.”

“Mike,” Harvey repeats patiently, “I’m not going to have phone sex with you while your kid is in the next room.”

“Our kid,” Mike corrects, and yeah, that’s a truth Harvey still isn’t used to hearing out loud. “She okay?”

“Fine.” And she is. Publishing suits Annie, an office where she can wear her combat boots and pride flags and safety pins in her ears and still be surrounded by the language and people who love it as much as she does. “She’s only here because she knows I hate coming home to an empty apartment.”

“I’m sorry. I’ll be home soon.”

“Don’t be. I know.”

“Just let me guess,” Mike wheedles, “and you can tell me if I’m right.”

“Absolutely not,” Harvey says. “Besides,” he lowers his voice, “it’ll be that much better for you when you come back.”

“That’s not making me want to wait.”

“Don’t make me get Annie in here.”

“Do and I’ll never touch you again.”

“I might be able to live with that.” He’s only teasing, but he follows it up with, “You know I love you,” just in case.

“I love you too.” Mike sighs theatrically. “I guess we’ll always have Paris.”

Harvey grins into his pillow.

They’ll be okay.

END


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is an honestly ridiculous amount of pop culture references in 'flashback humour'. Here are all of them, cited, in order.

"I still can't think of anything."

"Ah, flashback humour."

— Tyler Durden and the Narrator, _Fight Club_ (film)

Uh, just keep ya head in the game

Uh, just keep ya head in the game

And don’t be afraid to shoot the outside J

Uh, just keep ya head in the game

— _Get’cha Head in the Game_ , from _High School Musical_ (soundtrack)

“What team?”

“Wildcats!”

— Troy Bolton and pretty much everybody else, _High School Musical_ (film)

And what about the lovers who spend hours staring into each other’s eyes? Is it a display of trust? I will let you in close and trust you not to hurt me while I’m in this vulnerable position. And if trust is one of the foundations of love, perhaps the staring is a way to build or reinforce it. Or maybe it’s simpler than that. A simple search for connection. To see. To be seen.

— Nicola Yoon, _The Sun Is Also A Star_ (novel)

“I’m just afraid you’re going to burn in hell for all this.”

“I don’t believe in hell. I believe in unemployment, but not hell.”

— Jeff Slater and Michael Dorsey, _Tootsie_ (film)

“You’re too much trouble. Get some therapy.”

— George Fields, _Tootsie_ (film)

“God, I begged you to get therapy.”

— George Fields, _Tootsie_ (film)

“Go ahead and shoot. You’ll be doing me a favour.”

— Rick Blaine, _Casablanca_ (film)

“And remember, this gun is pointed right at your heart.”

“That is my _least_ vulnerable spot.”

— Rick Blaine and Captain Renault, _Casablanca_ (film)

“My boy’s wicked smart.”

— Morgan O’Malley, _Good Will Hunting_ (film)

“Tell him you love him. Bite the bullet.”

— George Downes (portrayed by Rupert Everett), _My Best Friend’s Wedding_ (film)

“Michael… I love you. I’ve loved you for nine years, I’ve just been too scared and arrogant to realise it, and — well, now I’m just scared. So I realise this comes at an inopportune time but I really have this gigantic favour to ask you: choose me. Marry me. Let me make you happy. Oh, that sounds like three favours, doesn’t it?”

— Julianne Potter (portrayed by Julia Roberts), _My Best Friend’s Wedding_ (film)

“Your compassion is a weakness your enemies will not share.”

“That’s why it’s so important. It separates us from them.”

— Henri Ducard and Bruce Wayne, _Batman Begins_ (film)

“I felt like putting a bullet between the eyes of every panda that wouldn’t screw to save its species. I wanted to open the dump valves on oil tankers and smother all those French beaches I’d never see. I wanted to breathe smoke.”

— The Narrator, _Fight Club_ (film)

“You’re too old, fat man. Your tits are too big.”

— Tyler Durden, _Fight Club_ (film)

“Don’t stomp your little last-season Prada shoes at me, honey.”

— Enrique Salvatore, _Legally Blonde_ (film)

“We don't read and write poetry because it's cute. We read and write poetry because we are members of the human race, and the human race is filled with passion. So medicine, law, business, engineering — these are noble pursuits, and necessary to sustain life. But poetry, beauty, romance, love — these are what we stay alive for.”

— John Keating, _Dead Poets Society_ (film)

“I always gagged on the silver spoon.”

— Charles Foster Kane, _Citizen Kane_ (film)

“You come into my house on the day my daughter is to be married and you ask me to do murder — for money.”

— Don Vito Corleone, _The Godfather_ (film)

“Don Corleone, I’m going to leave you now, because I know you are busy.”

— Luca Brasi, _The Godfather_ (film)

“Only don’t tell me that you’re innocent. Because it insults my intelligence. Makes me very angry.”

— Michael Corleone, _The Godfather_ (film)

“You must have your brains in your _dick_ if you think we’re just gonna walk away from this.”

— Rupert Anderson, _Mississippi Burning_ (film)

“Flies by the seat of his pants, totally unpredictable.”

“He got you, didn’t he?”

— Jester and Viper, _Top Gun_ (film)

“The first rule of Fight Club is: you do not talk about Fight Club. The second rule of Fight Club is: you do not talk about Fight Club.”

— Tyler Durden, _Fight Club_ (film)

“My advice to you is to start drinking heavily.”

“Better listen to him, Flounder. He’s pre-med.”

— Bluto and Otter, _Animal House_ (film)

“I was thinking, maybe we could get some beer.”

“Nah, not tonight. Besides, you might get lucky without it.”

— Pinto and Clorette De Pasto, _Animal House_ (film)

“Like a monkey, ready to be shot into space. Space monkey! Ready to sacrifice himself for the greater good.”

— Tyler Durden, _Fight Club_ (film)

_Fatal Attraction_ is a 1987 film centring around Dan Gallagher (Michael Douglas), a lawyer whose mistress Alex Forrest (Glen Close) becomes obsessed with him; and so, among other things, she stalks him, kidnaps his daughter, and attacks his wife Beth (Anne Archer) with a knife.

“You’re so sad. You know that, Alex? Lonely, and very sad.”

“Don’t you ever pity me, you smug bastard.”

“I’ll pity you… I’ll pity you. I’ll pity you because you’re sick.”

— Dan Gallagher and Alex Forrest, _Fatal Attraction_ (film)

“A lie is a very poor way to say hello.”

— Edith Keeler, _Star Trek_ (television)

“Why, you stuck up, half-witted, scruffy-looking nerf herder!”

— Princess Leia, _Star Wars: The Empire Strikes Back_ (film)

“Resistance is futile.”

— The Borg, _Star Trek_ (television)

“This is my one chance at happiness. I have to be ruthless!”

— Julianna Potter, _My Best Friend’s Wedding_ (film)

“I could be Jell-O.”

“Crème brûlée can never be Jell-O. _You_ could never be Jell-O.”

“I have to be Jell-O.”

“You’re _never_ gonna be Jell-O.”

— Kimmy Wallace and Julianne Potter, _My Best Friend’s Wedding_ (film)

“Kiss me. Kiss me as if it were the last time.”

— Ilsa Lund, _Casablanca_ (film)

“Here’s looking at you, kid.”

— Rick Blaine, _Casablanca_ (film)

“I don’t know who you are. I don’t know what you want. If you are looking for ransom, I can tell you I don’t have money. But what I do have are a very particular set of skills, skills I have acquired over a very long career, skills that make me a nightmare for people like you. If you let my daughter go now, that’ll be the end of it. I will not look for you. I will not pursue you. But if you don’t, I will look for you, I will find you, and I will kill you. “

— Bryan Mills (portrayed by Liam Neeson), _Taken_ (film)

_The Boy in the Dress_ is a children’s novel written by British TV comedian David Walliams, originally published in 2008.

“Hitting bottom isn’t a weekend retreat. It’s not a goddamn seminar. Stop trying to control everything and just let go! Let go!”

— Tyler Durden, _Fight Club_ (film)

“I am Jack’s complete lack of surprise.”

— The Narrator, _Fight Club_ (film)

Lovers forever, face to face

My city, your mountains

Stay with me, stay

I need you to love me

I need you today

Give me your leather

Take from me my lace

— Stevie Nicks, _Leather and Lace_ (ft. Don Henley), from _Bella Donna_ (album)

“You think I’m _gooorgeous_ , you wanna _daaaate_ me, love me and _maaaarry_ me…”

— Gracie Hart, _Miss Congeniality_ (film)

“No, I came because I wanted to.”

“People will say we’re in love.”

— Clarice Starling and Hannibal Lecter, _Silence of the Lambs_ (film)

“Closer, please. Closer…”

— Hannibal Lecter, _Silence of the Lambs_ (film)

Tell me how all this, and love too, will ruin us. / These, our bodies possessed by light. / Tell me we’ll never get used to it.

— Richard Siken, _Scheherazade_ , from _Crush_ (poetry collection)

You’re in a car with a beautiful boy, and he won’t tell you that he loves you, but he loves you. And you feel like you’ve done something terrible, like robbed a liquor store, or swallowed pills, or shovelled yourself a grave in the dirt, and you’re tired. You’re in a car with a beautiful boy and you’re trying not to tell him that you love him, and you’re trying to drown the feeling, and you’re trembling, but he reaches over and he touches you, like a prayer for which no words exist, and you feel your heart taking root in your body, like you’ve discovered something you don’t even have a name for.

— Richard Siken, _You Are Jeff,_ from _Crush_ (poetry collection)

“And you think that’s an excuse?”

“No, it’s not an excuse. It’s just a story about my daddy.”

— Alan Ward and Rupert Anderson, _Mississippi Burning_ (film)

“I admire your courage, Miss…?”

“Trench. Sylvia Trench. I admire your luck, Mister…?”

“Bond. James Bond.”

— Sylvia Trench and James Bond, _Dr No_ (film)

“I wanna be just like you. I figure all I need is a lobotomy and some tights.”

— Bender, _The Breakfast Club_ (film)

“Don’t mess with the bull, young man, you’ll get the horns.”

— Richard Vernon, _The Breakfast Club_ (film)

“The only reason people are nice to me is because I have more money than God.”

— Ouiser Boudreaux, _Steel Magnolias_ (film)

“I’m not crazy, M’Lynn, I’ve just been in a very bad mood for forty years!”

— Ouiser Boudreaux, _Steel Magnolias_ (film)

“Say I’m a bird! Say it! Say it now!”

“You’re a bird.”

“Now say you’re a bird, too.”

“If you’re a bird, I’m a bird.”

— Allie Hamilton and Noah Calhoun, _The Notebook_ (film)

“Rita Hayworth used to say, ‘They go to bed with Gilda, they wake up with me.’”

“Who’s Gilda?”

“Her most famous part. Men went to bed with the dream; they didn’t like it when they would wake up with the reality. Do you feel that way?”

“You are lovelier this morning than you have ever been.”

— Anna Scott and William Thacker, _Notting Hill_ (film)

“The fame thing isn’t really real, you know. Don’t forget: I’m also just a girl, standing in front of a boy, asking him to love her.”

— Anna Scott, _Notting Hill_ (film)

_Take the ‘A’ Train_ is a jazz standard written by Billy Strayhorn in 1939. It was the signature tune of the Duke Ellington orchestra.

_At Last_ is a song by Etta James released in 1960 on her debut album _At Last!_.

I run to the river, it was boiling

I run to the sea, it was boiling

I run to the sea, it was boiling

All on that day

—Nina Simone, _Sinnerman_ , from _Pastel Blues_ (album)

_Paper Doll_ is a song by the Mills Brothers, released in 1943. It is referenced in Arthur Miller’s _A View From the Bridge_ , which premiered in 1955 and is largely about dock worker Eddie Carbone and his inappropriate, borderline incestuous feelings for his niece, Catherine. (Which Annie is understandably disturbed by.) Arthur Miller also wrote the infamous _Death of a Salesman_ , which premiered in 1949.

“If I could always read, I should never feel the want of company.”

— Lord George Gordon Byron

When the moon hits your eye

Like a big pizza pie,

That’s amore

— Dean Martin, _That’s Amore_ , from _Dean Martin Sings_ (album)

“You ruined that piano!”

“What is the price of one piano compared to the terrible crime that has been committed here?”

“But that’s a priceless Steinway!”

“Not anymore.”

— Mrs Leverlilly and Inspector Clouseau, _The Pink Panther Strikes Again_ (film)

“You’re not your job. You’re not how much money you have in the bank. You’re not the car you drive. You’re not the contents of your wallet. You’re not your fucking khakis. You’re the all-singing, all-dancing crap of the world."  
— Tyler Durden, _Fight Club_ (film)

(Turn around)

Ever now and then I get a little bit lonely

And you’re never coming 'round

(Turn around)

Every now and then I get a little bit tired

Of listening to the sound of my tears

— Bonnie Tyler, _Total Eclipse of the Heart_ , from _Faster Than the Speed of Night_ (album)

Un-break my heart

Say you’ll love me again

Undo this hurt you caused

When you walked out the door

And walked out of my life

Un-cry these tears

I cried so many nights

Un-break my heart, my heart

— Toni Braxton, _Un-break My Heart_ , from _Secrets_ (album)

“Talk to me, Goose.”

— Maverick, _Top Gun_ (film)

“Do you really think you have a chance against us, Mr Cowboy?”

“Yippi-ki-yay, motherfucker.”

— Hans Gruber and John McClane, _Die Hard_ (film)

“What you should have done was land your plane! You don’t own that plane! The taxpayers do! Son, your ego is writing cheques that your body can’t cash!”

— Stinger, _Top Gun_ (film)

“It could be worse. A woman could cut off your penis while you’re sleeping and toss it out the window of a moving car.”

"Well, there's always that."

— Tyler Durden and the Narrator, _Fight Club_ (film)

“My colours are blush and bashful.”

“Her colours are pink and pink.”

“My colours are blush and bashful, Mama.”

“How precious is this wedding gonna get, I ask you?”

— Shelby and M’Lynn, _Steel Magnolias_ (film)

[This](https://floravere.com/collections/love-cant-wait/products/ats-m-lin?sscid=81k4_gdyky&) is what I envisioned for Donna’s wedding fit, minus the shoulder bits.

“I don’t suppose you could speed things up?”

“If you’re in such a hurry, you could lower a rope, or a tree branch, or find something useful to do.”

“I could do that. I’ve got some rope up here. But I do not think that you would accept my help, since I am only waiting around to kill you.”

“That does put a damper on our relationship.”

— Inigo Montoya and the Man in Black, _The Princess Bride_ (film)

“Would you like to stay for dinner?”

“Would you like to stay forever?”

— Mulan and Grandmother Fa, _Mulan_ (film)

“Show me the money.”

“Yes! Louder.”

“SHOW ME THE MONEY.”

“Yeah, say it, brother, but you gotta yell that shit.”

“SHOW ME THE MONEY!”

“I need to feel you, Jerry!”

“SHOW ME THE MONEY!”

“Jerry, you better yell!”

“ _SHOW! ME! THE! MONEY! SHOW ME THE MONEEEEEY!_ ”

“We love this white man!”

— Jerry Maguire and Rod Tidwell, _Jerry Maguire_ (film)

“We live in a cynical world. A cynical world. And we work in a business of tough competitors. I love you. You — complete me. And I just had —”

“Shut up. Just shut up. You had me at hello.”

— Jerry Maguire and Dorothy Boyd, _Jerry Maguire_ (film)

“We’ll always have Paris.”

— Rick Blaine, _Casablanca_ (film)

**Author's Note:**

> i just wanted to mess around with mike and harvey's dynamic + an original character in the suits 'verse and then i blinked and it was fifty-five thousand words. 
> 
> kind of tempted to do a retelling from mike's perspective, but we'll see.


End file.
